


Heart of Marble

by AvyRyptan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Mutual Pining, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Swords
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 67,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28057020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvyRyptan/pseuds/AvyRyptan
Summary: A story about hearts, swords, and marble.Chapter 1 and 2 are now edited by the awesome nottodayaye.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 135
Kudos: 219





	1. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Losing in a duel meant losing your life or your honor. Jaime thought them to be trivialities, nothing worth fretting about. But suddenly, for the first time in many years, it felt like something significant was at stake. More than the urge to impress his men, more than the pressure to fulfill his duty to his family, he wanted his prospective bride’s approval too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This my first try at fanfiction and English is not my main language. I know that it shows. 
> 
> The lovely nottodayaye is now my beta! I’m so happy and grateful. The first chapter is now much easier to read. Some comments don’t make much sense anymore, I’m still very thankful for them.
> 
> Nothing about this story is original, major thanks to GRRM, ao3 and to all the wonderful writers this fandom is blessed with.
> 
> The story is a mix of my favorite tropes, I use more book than show canon.  
> There will be some typical sexism. The small differences between my universe and canon should be explained in the text. Brienne and Jaime are nearer in age, and Gallodon lives. Rhaegar is King, Lyanna his Queen, therefore women who can fight are more common, but this doesn’t make Brienne’s life much easier.  
> Our main characters have a long way to go and their alternate povs are not very reliable. Be patient with them and with me. There will be angsty romance and romancy angst. I can solemnly swear that I will not kill the two main characters, and there’s no maiming of limbs in this fic.

_“They say there is naught but stone at the heart of Casterly Rock.”_

AGoT, Catelyn VIII.

  
The marble walls of Evenfall Hall gleamed above the training yard, where the Tarth household and their westerlander guests had assembled. Yesterday’s mist had lifted, and it was a glorious day for a fight. The crowd was there to witness him claim the hand of the Maid of Tarth. The young woman opposing him moved her sword into an elegant roof guard. There was something gallant about her stance that reminded him of the late Sword of the Morning, the man who knighted him. Jaime had the first inkling he should take this duel seriously. This was not a jape. 

Exhilaration surged through his veins, his body raring for a real fight. On instinct, he dropped his sword into a defensive plow position. Losing in a duel meant losing your life or your honor. Jaime thought them to be trivialities, nothing worth fretting about. But suddenly, for the first time in many years, it felt like something significant was at stake. More than the urge to impress his men, more than the pressure to fulfill his duty to his family, he wanted his prospective bride’s approval too.

With a solemn mien on her face, she bent her left knee lower. Sunlight was reflected along her blunted blade. Her breeches bulged from the tension in her thighs, and the seams of her jerkin strained at the shoulders.

He must have shown his surprise. Usually, he did well in guarding his emotions. Mayhaps she detected a widening of his eyes or an “Oh” threatened to spill from his lips before he could swallow it down. His soon-to-be-betrothed smiled. It was tiny, but it shifted something in her face. Her ill-matched features seemed to align. The too thick lips stretched, the broken nose lifted, the smattering of freckles adorned her cheeks like constellations, and her eyes... astonishing. Bluer than the sky, deep as the waters around Tarth’s shores. For the first time, their eyes met for real, and she became herself. There was no hunching, no shy maiden mummery, no pretense of being small and delicate. Annoyed by the effect she had on him, he shook her gaze off, circled his sword in an impressive flourish he had last used as a green squire. He smirked too, and the arrogance of it would impress even Cersei.

He lowered the tip of his tourney sword to the ground. The fool’s guard was the best stance to adopt. It was mocking and nothing blocked the view.

He said, in a gallant but quiet voice so that the onlookers, especially his father, wouldn’t hear, “My lady, I must compliment you. Men’s garb suits you. In a robe you look like a male mummer that plays a woman’s role for laughs. Now you look almost like a knight.”

Her smile instantly fell, and a ruddy blush crept from her neck upwards.

She said, “I wouldn’t know. Fashion is not my forte. I’m better suited to sword fights than needlework.”

He smirked again and polished an imaginary smut from his blade. “We shall see, my lady. A lady of the Rock doesn’t have to sew on her own. We brought a septa with us who knows more about silks and needles than the Seven-Pointed Star.”

She bristled. “You are too sure there will be a wedding. We haven’t even begun… You are only a knight by name. And I’m not a lady!”

“Oh, but a lady you are, and I intend to make you one. Have you seen the wedding cloak? It's all gold and rubies.”

“Are we here to discuss fashion?”

He laughed. At least she had guts. Not many knights would dare to confront and provoke him, who was one of the best swordsmen of the realm. She was foolish and delusional, but he reminded himself to treat her gently. His father wouldn’t approve of a bruised bride, and blue marks would clash with the Lannister colors.

With the back of her gauntlet, she pushed back a wispy blond lock that had escaped her flimsy braid. It left a streak of grease behind. She scowled—how ugly she was!—and hissed, “Kingslayer!”

Jaime attacked

**********J&B**********

He lunged; she parried. He thrust; she parried. He pressed; she didn’t respond. Their swords hissed and kissed. He laughed, and she grunted, steadfast in her defense. After a while, Jaime dismissed his tactic to disarm her within the first few bouts. He couldn’t provoke his bride to show him her skill. A skill that must be there. He couldn’t remember many fighters who would have survived his relentless attacks for such a long period. Neither could he name many fighters with such a boring style. Her swordmaster must have taught her that. A somber fellow, that one. He had not smiled once the whole day Jaime had spent on the isle. These islanders were very dour people. It must come with living so remotely.

They had called the event yesterday evening a feast in honor of their guests. For Jaime the gloomy affair had felt like a funeral. They ate crabs and millet without any sauce and listened in rapt attention to the unbelievably long song "Farewell, my brother," about the twins Arryk and Erryk who served two opposing Targaryens. The part alone where they tried to convince the other into changing allegiance went for over an hour. "O brother, join my side! I can’t; you join mine!" Over and over and over again. The flute lamented; the drum expanded; the harp wept on and on. He forgot the exact lyrics, but it was something inane like, "I love you, my brother, in life and in death, but let’s stay stubborn and mulish; we shall spill our blood and slay our love; to abandon dragons is foolish." The twins met in a battle on opposing sides, were too stupid to wear family’s colors, and didn’t recognize each other. Jaime would always recognize his twin even if she was dressed as a kitchen wench or wore armor. The stupid knights in the song fought for hours, blah blah, melancholic harp, double death, mournful flute, how tragic, end of the drum, then finally silence. No wonder a Tarth ancestor wrote this song. The current Evenstar and his daughter were even proud of it. It spoke of his father’s restraint that he didn’t suggest the "Rains of Castamere" to lighten the mood.

There was not enough wine and no dancing at the so-called feast. His knights were bored, and this miserable jape of a courtship only lasted so long to keep them entertained. But Jaime kept his good spirits. After the wedding, they were off to Storm’s End, where he would see his sister. He sighed. Finally, after too many years. Mayhaps he could convince her this time to flee with him. To elope to Essos, marry, live in a modest cabin right by the shore. She must be so bored with her brutish husband as Jaime would be if there was only this bride and not the sweetest of rewards waiting for him. The hall and the misty isle were dreary. No wonder the girl was so boring.

Thrust. Dodge. Thrust. She blocked like a ruffian with her shield.

The only interesting thing about his host’s hall was in the armory. Jaime recognized this one shield with the tree and the star... but from where? He also gleefully observed his father’s indignant reaction to the mistress of the Evenstar sitting at the high table. Tywin Lannister would never sully the memory of his beloved wife in that manner. 

With a high hand attack, she blocked without giving him any invention for a riposte.

The Maid of Tarth was as boring as she was ugly. Her marble castle was clearly beyond its prime, and a thick fog had held the isle in its clutches like an evil curse. He felt ashamed of wedding someone beneath him. Bored at the so-called feast, he looked out in the night and only saw his face, his reflection on the bull’s eyes window panes distorted and ugly. In the hall, only a few windows were colored, the rest rebuilt with simple translucent bottle glass. The tapestry was faded. The food was bland. This lowly house was no true match for the Lannisters. He wondered why his father insisted on her, of all possible brides. 

He tried her left side, her right side. She was so damn tall, almost as tall as him, maybe even taller. There was no way he could use his famous wrath strike against her, a vicious blow to the head. He tried; she blocked. Her face was as grim as before. It didn’t impress her.

His father was known for his scheming. There must be a reason he insisted on this match. Why would he bind the Lannisters to the Tarths? It couldn’t be only out of spite, could it? But even Tyrion couldn’t unravel the reasoning behind their father’s intentions. Marble mines... was the King planning to build a new castle? Who could be interested in marble mines when you mine gold? The Lannister didn’t shit gold, but they sat on it like a man with a runny gut on the privy.

She moved into a high ox guard, and he tried a cut to her wrist like a slap. She sprang back. What was wrong with this woman?

Smiles didn’t come easily to the people of Tarth. The family looked miserable. Even now that the daughter was soon to be wedded to the most sought after bachelor of the realm. It ought to be a day of joy. Her father, over there behind the fence, looked stony; the swordmaster, sullen. The face of an ugly septa beside them was pinched, and she crinkled her nose in disgust. 

A steep cut to her heart? It was as useless as slashing at marble.

At least the Lannister host was merry and cheered him on. Addam hollered, “Show your claws!” His brother, already deep in his cups, jumped up and down, the wine sloshing over the brim. Swyft croaked. Jaime’s squire, Peck, was watching with a mixture of awe and confusion. As their gazes met, he spurred him on with an excited clap. Lydden was bent over, wheezing from laughs. Only Lord Lannister remained silent, an annoyed look on his face. It must irk him that Jaime delayed his claiming of the promised mines. But what should he do? He wouldn’t trash this girl; that wasn’t gallant. Instead, he intended to show off a bit, give them something to sing songs about how the young lion courted the swordswench of Tarth. Some clever feints? Then some impressive slice cuts? Was there an opening? 

She was as relentless as the marble from the quarries that would be her dowry—if he would wed her. A riposte interrupted his thoughts, and he jumped back in surprise, her blade missing his cheek by a hair’s breadth, a kiss to the wind. She spurred on; he parried with his shield in the last moment and stumbled. She attacked again. There she was! She wasn’t dead yet. This ought to be fun.

Jaime started to circle her, needing to catch his breath. Sweat trickled into his shirt. He shrugged his jerkin off and chucked it to the side, and then he ripped at the laces of his shirt. She was pale and stony and lifeless as she waited, her sword frozen in a graceless plow. How boring would it be to wed her? To bed her? He couldn’t do it. Why shouldn’t he just let her win? Then he would be free.

But it was the order of his father, who was, for some unfathomable reason, greedy for marble. Jaime couldn’t disappoint his father more than he had already done. He did it with every breath he took. But he could disappoint his sister, and his sister had demanded this wedding too. She had answered his pleading letter with a curt, “The Evenstar’s daughter? I saw her. Wed her. I don’t have complaints.” Her easy agreement hurt him, but the visit in Storm’s End would be his prize to be shackled to this stony beast of a woman for a while. He saw his sweet sister only very rarely since she had married the Baratheon brute. A new surge of energy carried him. He attacked the swordswench’s plow with a squinting strike. This was for Cersei. 

His bride didn’t look impressed, and that irked him. Not a hint of awe, only scorn. He tried to do better, but to no avail. Couldn’t she see the beauty of his thrusts? 

He started to look for her weaknesses in earnest. A grimace hinted at the rare occasion of her planning to do more than just stand there and wait and observe. Speed and experience were on his side. In a real battle, he would play dirty. He pretended to go for her breast, but in the last moment he circled back and hit her with the flat side of his sword at her hip. That would teach her! The bruise wouldn’t mar her appearance on the wedding day. It would be hidden from most eyes save his. Not that he planned to ogle his naked bride. His hit must have been painful. She was not even blinking. He felt a flash of remorse. Something in the mulish patience of this stupid girl, this wench, made him feel bad playing dirty. How boring! 

His footwork was better than hers. His arms felt strained though, so he threw his shield away. She looked confused. She shook her head, only a sheen of sweat over her brow, and mimicked his action. The crowd gasped. It was as gallant as it was stupid. She relied on her defense. She would miss her shield soon enough. Now or never. It started to be a tiny bit embarrassing how long it's taking him to disarm her. He had a weapon she couldn’t wield, a weapon that cut truer than these blunted swords: words.

**********J&B**********

His father had told him about the looming betrothal shortly after that unpleasant disagreement in the crypt. The broken statue of the Mother was fresh in Jaime’s mind, and he had been mellow. Jaime was intrigued by the lady's peculiar condition to fight her in order to win her hand. Since Lyanna Stark became Queen, a woman with a sword was not as rare as it had been, although elderly and old-fashioned southrons still wrinkled their noses or spat on the ground whenever they talked about this new courtly leisure. Usually women weren’t as good as men in wielding swords, even the Queen. They were more interested in winning a knight’s heart than the match. To fight them was no fun. You had to hold back in order not to break some delicate noses. As Jaime learned about the terms he had to fulfill to win the Maid of Tarth's hand, courtly gallantry was not the first association he made. Instead, it reminded him of the heroic sword maids of old. A song about a distant ancestor of his sprung to mind. "Golden Joanna, who slew a dozen Ironborn and gelded the next and made him a fool." His mother was named after this Joanna. Jaime imagined his bride as fair and golden as the maid in the song, as fierce and vengeful. A bit like his sister, but with a sword. But then he heard that the swordswench was ugly of face and had a mannish build. Everyone treated her challenge as a jape then, and he followed suit. 

In trying to disarm her, his first reaction came back to him. He craved the zeal and adventure he had felt when he went to Volantis to rescue his uncle, without success, or when he tried to slay the wicked Smiling Knight as a squire, also without success. He would win this adventure! He felt it in his veins, his blood rushing to the tune of a bawdy song. 

Jaime brushed his hair back, cocked his head, and flashed his teeth. "I must compliment you, my lady."

"All compliments to me by men are lies." She crouched a bit lower into her defensive stance, wary of his distractions. 

"You call me a liar? I underestimated your prowess with the sword."

She scowled and didn’t answer. He circled her so that she would be facing the sunlight, but she saw through his move and adjusted her position with swift steps.

"Your footwork is impressive…"

He attacked with a double round, his sword flashing around her like a windmill. Hilt close to his chest, she blocked him, a dancer answering his move.

"Your parries are decent. And there’s power behind them."

Although she clearly hated him, her manners remained impeccable. A small "thanks" slipped out of her mouth. She nodded, her eyelids closing for a heartbeat too long. He slashed at her arms, and their swords sparked as they met. He pressed against her, and her scent wafted through his nostrils, salt and leather and herbs. She warded him off and threw in an elbow kick to his ribs for good measure. It hurt. Mother’s teats, this woman was strong.

He suppressed a gasp. "It saddens me to say you would be useless in a real fight. Your blade has never been bloodied; there’s no ingenuity behind your moves. You treat our fight like a chore, not like the art it's meant to be. Swords are like musical instruments. A good fight is sweeter than a song. You know nothing about it. Look, even your father gets restless and bored…"

She glared at him. "You keep trying to distract me, ser. Are you already exhausted? It’s not honorable. You shouldn’t do that. I don’t want to marry a man who doesn’t fight with honor. But what else is there to expect from someone like you?"

"Why do you fight then if you don’t love it? Only because you resent all men, because they are not strong enough to overpower you. Believe me, I’m strong enough."

She huffed. "Who would have thought the famous lion of Lannister is all words and no action? Do you pay singers to write all these songs about you? I trained to face one of the best swordsmen on Planetos. But there seems to be no truth behind the songs. Words are as weak as the breeze today."

She seemed almost sad, but there was anger too, and he liked that.

Slash. Block. Again!

Jaime asked, “So you don’t love to fight? Maybe with better teachers... such a shame. There’s talent in you, but if you fight out of resentment, you miss a whole lot of joy!"

Her blush turned into an angry Lannister red, and she looked at him with indignation. Those eyes! His cock twitched. Stranger's balls, he truly missed Cersei. But first, he had to beat the monster to get the maiden. 

He suppressed his smile.

His bride bristled. “I have the best teachers! My brother Galladon is now a knight serving Renly Baratheon. There's also my father and good Ser Goodwin over there. And of course, I love to fight! It’s like breathing, like drinking! I came up with this rule for my engagement because a former betrothed wanted to forbid me from fighting ever again. I'd rather die!“

Thrust. Block. Again.

He said, "Mayhaps your betrothed realized there was no passion behind your fight. You keep saying you love it, but you fight as if you hate it. It's meek. It’s boring. You only parry and deflect. Did no one ever teach you how to attack? Look, when I lunge, you…"

She came at him with a vengeance, like she wanted to kill him a dozen times and geld him to top it off. She fought like a swordswench in a song, and he was enjoying it immensely. Soon her thrusts became a bit weaker. She started to stumble on the retreat, and he had her on the ground. The crowd groaned and screamed. She gulped for air and struggled. He held her arms down by her side with his legs, pressed his chest against her meager breasts, and held the tip of his sword gently against her throat.

She swallowed.

“Do you yield?”

A jerky nod, a shimmer in her eyes.

"Louder! It doesn’t suit a lady of the Rock to be bashful. We do everything with pride. You fought well, my lady. Next time I'll show you some tricks."

She said loud and clearly: “I yield.”

The spectators erupted in cheers. Jaime looked around, almost surprised. 

He won. But what did he win? Suddenly, he felt confused to the core.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you read these end note, I’m already very happy! Thank you for your time.  
> I like them fighting and did some research about HEMA and had fun with medieval fencing manuals, there’s no deep research behin it and it’s not my area of expertise. I fell in love with the vocabulary though.
> 
> Jaime’s badass ancestor Joanna Lannister-Westerling is canon, she killed a dozen Iron Born and gelded another.  
> The song about the twins Erryk and Arryk ‘Farewell, my brother’ by Luceon of Tarth is canon. I always thought it would trigger Jaime greatly, but never saw it included in fanfic, I would love to read other’s attempt to see his reaction! 
> 
> Next up: Brienne waits in her wedding bed, but where is her groom?


	2. Rite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dreaded wedding night ends better than it started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: the patient and awesome nottodayaye has now edited this chapter, too!
> 
> I was happy and flabbergasted about the friendly comments, the kudos, and bookmarks. Then I began to worry this chapter could disappoint... you know the deal. 
> 
> I uprated my story to M to be on the safe side, not sure whether it’s warranted, though. Let’s say, Jaime feels very at home in his body, Brienne does not. She is 18.
> 
> This chapter has more verbal sparring than physical. If a story about an unwilling bride’s wedding night could trigger some trauma, please consider skipping. But nothing canon-like is going on, I promise. And the chapter ends at a much lighter place than it started.

In her almost dark chamber Brienne was sitting alone on her bed. She was waiting… she gulped… for her husband. Only a single candle was still burning. She had put it on the table, safely away from her face. Instead of bringing light to the room, the flame magnified the shadows that were creeping over the surfaces and threatened to engulf all her unpacked belongings into a void of despair. Surely, any moment she would wake up. Everything was a nightmare. This couldn’t be real. 

She never felt so alone in her life. It was not the pain she was afraid of. To lose a maidenhead couldn’t hurt more than a hard training in the yard. She feared the humiliation and his mocking. Soon she would be exposed to him, and all of her would be seen by those green eyes. His eyes had distressed her so much that she had lost the fight this morning, the fight and her freedom, her dreams. Where was he? When would he come?

Would her face and her body disgust him as her septa had predicted? Till this day, she was haunted by the sneer on the face of her second betrothed many years ago. She hadn’t even bloomed then. He threw a rose at her feet, crushed her hope of finding acceptance or more. At least the Kingslayer didn’t deserve beauty. Wed to her, he got what he deserved. With grim determination, Brienne tried to understand the will of the gods, tried to accept that they chose her as an instrument to punish an oathbreaker. 

Her spine was rigid against the oaken headboard, she shivered in her new and flimsy shift. She considered turning the key to lock him out but decided against it. She gripped the sheets, wrung her hands, plucked wilted flowers out of her tresses, gripped the sheets again. There, over her trunk, the hated cloak was lying. It told her the truth. A rampant lion, its golden coat glittering in the dark, a bloody red gemstone winking at her: “Wait till I come.”

The hour of the bat fluttered by and slithered into the hour of the eel. She was still alone and waiting. Should she sleep? Get some rest? The stars crept over the small stripe of sky she could see from her shelter. Her muscles ached from the fight. There was a bruise on her hip and one on her wrist. The dances had exhausted her too. Her limbs felt weak. She couldn’t let him surprise her. No sleeping then. As she waited, the wax of the candle melted and dropped and waned. How long would it take? What would he say? Would she be able to perform her duty? 

After this night, everything would change. She had to leave her home, bound to a man she despised. What would her future bring? Sorrow in Casterly Rock? The futile longing to wield a sword? Would she spend years cleaning snotty little noses? Children… Perhaps this night… She had to survive the next hours; she couldn’t fret about the years to come.

The castle fell silent, the waves crashing ashore. She had felt like this years ago when she was a child, waiting for Septa Roelle’s wicked switch. She dreaded the waiting, dreaded the end of the wait.

But clearly, she, a bride, didn’t deserve to be alone on her wedding night! It was cruel. It was mean. It was mocking. Her husband must despise her more than she despised him. Oh, she didn’t deserve this.

“Warrior, why didn’t you grant me my wish?” 

Her voice echoed in her room. Most of her belongings were already stored away for the journey. Without the tapestry, it was hollow and daft. She lay down and buried her face in the cushions. Eyes closed, she imagined her favorite tapestry scene, the Maiden gifting Galladon of Morne with a magical sword, the famous Just Maid, as a token of her love. It was the most beloved legend of Tarth. The hero never wielded it against a mortal, for it would have given him an unfair advantage. Instead, he slew a dragon with it, the most honorable deed he had done. How about lions? Perhaps she should have prayed for the Maiden’s help instead? Perhaps the goddess would have granted her a magical sword to trash a lion into the ground. The Warrior must have been the wrong choice. He was clearly on the side of this honorless knight. Why? They looked alike, but the Kingslayer hadn’t the Warrior’s heart nor his honor. Her husband was so handsome it was a pain to look at. She hated his golden locks and his forest green eyes, his sharp features, his mocking smile. She hated his swift movements and his prowess with the sword and his agility on the dance floor. Oh, how humbling this fight had been. 

The many weeks of training, all the advice of Ser Goodwin, they were all for naught and dust.

“Wait,” her swordmaster had told her. “Wait and observe. Let him attack. Be patient. I heard he is an impatient man. He goes for the kill. Wait and deflect. He will underestimate you. His fighting style is exhausting. He will tire soon. Never attack. Only parry if you must. Preserve your strength, and then, when you see him slow down, you will still have all the energy in the world to disarm him.”

The better advice would have been to clog her ears with wax and blindfold her eyes. He had provoked her with his looks, his words, and his manners, and then she showed him her mastery of the sword before the actual fight had even begun. Why had she put her sword into the bold roof stance to begin with? Why, Brienne, why? To show off? To impress him? She acted as she did as a stupid little girl, when Galladon used to whack her and she chased him with her wooden sword through the corridors and halls, red-faced and screaming and then laughing out off the castle, running to the cliffs. A jump, a rush, a clash, and then they’d be in the water that carried them safely. They would make peace afterward, the cause of the brawl long lost and forgotten. There wouldn’t be forgiveness and laughter with her cruel husband, no chase through the halls, and no exhilarating dive off the cliffs.

Her brother had advised her in his last letter: “If you lose, remember you could do worse. The last generation of Lannisters… it’s best we don’t talk about them. But there were impressive people in the past. You will finally leave our boring home. There will be much to do. You will have a purpose. They are very rich. With their money, you can do good. And always remember our words: ‘When the sun sets, we shine.’ There’s an Evenstar in the westerlands, surely.”

The letter ended with funny anecdotes about his brothers-in-arms, the knights of Renly Baratheon. She would probably see them in Storm’s End. At least that is one thing she could look forward to. After that would be a life of sorrow and despair. How jealous she was of her brother! She would love nothing more than to be a knight and join them. There she would find acceptance, purpose, friendship. Renly was the gentlest of lords. He had visited Evenfall once and danced with Brienne, for no one else would ask her to dance. Her heart had fluttered with joy. The contrast to her wedding feast was staggering. The Lannisters hadn’t allowed her a single pause in the dances. Her hus… The Kingslayer had sent all his knights, his squires, even his brother, to dance with her. How humiliating it had been to dance with a dwarf, given her height.

He himself danced with her again and again, laughing at her, mocking her, giving her false compliments. “This dress suits you, and the Lannister cloak goes nicely with your ruddy face. Stop blushing, wife. It doesn’t become you to pretend to be a simpering maiden. You are a swordswench.”

“I’m not simpering! Far from it. You must think I find you handsome.”

He had the gall to swing her around; she quickly followed his lead. He gripped her a bit more tightly around her midriff. When one of his hands crept downwards, she jumped back as if he had scorched her. 

He cocked a brow and bit his lip. “You pledged your love to me with this peck you call a kiss. Surely, you honor your oaths, my bride!”

She bristled, he laughed, and the cake was served. The cloak was heavy on her shoulders as they cut it together, the knife in her hand screaming for his flesh. It got nothing but honey and cherries.

**********J&B**********

Brienne hated her new house colors, the gentle rose and azure of her maiden cloak were replaced by garish crimson and gold. Her wedding cloak stained her trunk like it was bleeding. She could remember vividly how this nightmare had begun some months ago. She had been walking along the battlements, on the watch for pirates as always, when she saw a single red spot on the horizon. Back then, she had not known it heralded her downfall, like a drop of blood in the sea of blue, tiny at first and then expanding into a most impressive galley, a ship that put the merchants’ cogs in her haven to shame. The bulging seal was coming nearer, hissing and roaring in the wind. The golden figurehead snapped at the foam and gulped Tarth’s waters greedily.

Then, Ser Kevan Lannister, the brother of the infamous Tywin Lannister, had arrived in their hall. She had met Ser Kevan’s niece once at Storm’s End. She was Brienne’s liege lady, the wife of Robert Baratheon, a woman as beautiful as she was cruel. Nevertheless, Brienne offered Kevan Lannister bread and salt.

The Tarths had been generous hosts. At first, the visit had only been about marble. They had to deliver marble in exchange for trading cogs and garrisons to fight off pirates. Her father and Brienne had shown them the mines, and Kevan and some maester stayed on and went for days to different quarries. After that, ravens flew to the West. Upon their return, her father had suddenly wished her to come into his solar.

She knocked and waited for admittance. Galina, his newest mistress, came out, winked, and mouthed, “Good news! Don’t be afraid.”

She reached up to Brienne’s cheek, and her lush black hair disappeared around the corner. Brienne took a deep breath.

Her father did not beat around the bush. “There’s a new proposal, one I can’t refuse.”

“Whoever he is, he has to fight me! You granted me this condition.”

“He will win.”

“Whom shall I wed then?”

“Kevan’s nephew.”

“There are many Lannisters. Who?”

“The Young Lion of the Rock.”

She gasped. “Father! You can’t be serious! The Kingslayer? A man who broke the holiest oath a knight can swear? May the Father judge him! No, Father. No. I will not do it.”

Her father tried to take her hand, but she stepped back. He said, “You can try your mettle against him. But I wish you wouldn’t. This marriage will help us more than you can imagine. As a dowry, we have to grant them three quarries on the east side of Tarth. Morne quarries. We never use them. I wish you wouldn’t fight. Please…”

“You can’t deny me. You can’t. The gods must despise him… I will win!”

“Child, my friend Kevan says his nephew is quite the swordsman…”

“An oathbreaker! How dare he stand beside me in the sept!”

“The son of the late king forgave him… You can’t be sterner than a grieving son.”

“King Rhaegar feared the Lannisters for sure. They pay their debts; it is known. I’m sure they bribed him. But, Father, you can’t! The Kingslayer has no principles! The Kingsguard serve for life. He is the first they dismissed. He is hated in King's Landing, in the whole realm. He is cruel and arrogant. I… No, Father. No.”

Her father sighed and scratched his beard. “You have two moons to prepare. I will release Ser Goodwin from his other duties. Let the gods decide what they wish.”

**********J&B**********

  
After the cake was cut, Brienne fled the hall, the shrieks of seagulls in her ears. Roelle found her in her favorite alcove and reminded her with harsh words about the wedding night. This was the first time since the fight that Roelle had the chance to speak with her, and she was angry.

Her wedding preparations had been firmly in the hands of a Lannister septa and some western washerwomen, who praised their lord and giggled and sewed her into a blueish shimmering brocade.

A girl with broken teeth assured her, saying, “I know he will be kind! I could tell you stories…”

The septa harrumphed. “Don’t shame the Seven, girl!” Then to Brienne she said, gently, “We all saw your fight, my lady. This marriage is blessed by the gods!”

The woman who plucked at her brows said, “Have you ever…?”

Another who struggled with her hair said, “His mother was a marvel. A shame her daughter inherited only her looks.”

Another one who was arranging some laces said, “The twins were very close. Some say…”

“Stop, stop! That’s the future Lady Lannister! Hush!”

They had hindered Roelle from lecturing and berating Brienne. In the alcove, her septa compensated by pouring all her advice at once into Brienne until she felt drowned. The septa said that she must bear the pain without complaints and it would hurt immensely. That she must snuff all candles so that her husband wouldn’t see her and be able to perform. That there would never be love, but one day, in many years, she would be able to accept it.

Roelle ushered Brienne back into the hall. She was lucky they spared her the bedding. Her father and her goodfather agreed that it was disgraceful. Her husband sent her ahead to her room.

“Wait till I come.”

She considered fleeing, but to where? She could ask her brother for shelter, but that would be the first place they’d look for her. If she goes to Uncle Endrew who served at the Wall, would she survive it? Women didn’t serve in the Night’s Watch. Could she become a septa then? That wasn’t an option. There were no swords for septas, and she would never want to be like Roelle. The gods had shown her their wish besides. She had to stray true to her words. So she went to her room and did what her septa told her to do. One single candle was allowed, far away from her face. And since then she had been waiting and waiting.

**********J&B**********

The watchman hailed the beginning of the hour of the ghost. Brienne remained alone. She tossed and turned. The crushed buds in her hair were smelling faintly of rot.

There was a ruckus, laughter and shouting, in the corridor. Then came a knock, and her door slammed open. She hid deeper into the sheets. He banged the door shut. His silhouette swayed along the walls.

Her husband said with a slur in his speech, “Damn, I was promised a bride that shines at night. And yet your room is darker than the Stranger’s ass. Your house words are lies, my lady.”

How dare he! She stayed silent.

“Are you asleep? Say something!” He stood near the candle, dark against the light. He turned, his features becoming sharper.

She said, “You care about house words? You are slurring, Ser, and not roaring.”

He laughed and hiccupped. “The wench has claws already. Half a Lannister, I say. Only the final touches are lacking.”

Something crashed to the floor. His sword.

“Smith’s balls… Why did you snuff all the candles?”

He stumbled through her room and lit the candles and tallow lights. She observed him from her bed as he looked around and messed with her things. He shuffled her scrolls and touched the whittled figurines her brother had made for her. He even had the gall to try some fumbling thrust with the wooden sword she got as a small child. Then he held the pink conch to his ear and listened. “I can’t hear a thing. The damn real sea is too loud.”

With a jerky move, he turned to her and she bristled under his stare. He was drunk. Was he a dangerous drunk or a nice one? He wrestled with his cloak and let it fall. “Why haven’t you packed yet? We leave tomorrow. I thought you are the diligent type.”

“I… I did pack!”

“You forgot this stuff; you will miss it.”

He snatched the expensive wedding cloak, opened her trunk, and threw her childhood belongings haphazardly in there. Something clashed. “That’s your armor? You need a new one. I like the whittled lioness. You would miss her. Not enough lions in the West.”

“It’s a cat, not a lioness.”

“Whatever…” he muttered. Midway through what he's doing, he removed his doublet and began to loosen his shirt. “My wedding must have been the strangest in all of Westeros. I have to tell you about it; you will not believe it. The bride, the hall, the sermon… the rites were all wrong. Then the wedding cake!”

“It was marvelous.”

“Filled with living seagulls, wench? Who in his right mind would fill a wedding cake with seagulls? Normal people use gentle birds, like pigeons or warblers. Nightingales if they are fancy. But seagulls? Never!” He laughed harshly, shook his head.

She gripped the sheets, hardly able to look at him. “We always use seagulls. They bring luck!”

“How many noble weddings have you attended, exactly?”

“I don’t know much about weddings, it is true…” She swallowed. Duty… Honor… “But I know for certain that there should be more after the cake is cut… There should be a bedding. Where have you been?”

“A charming place at your haven.” He giggled. “The Fishy Bucket, they call it. My knights, my brother, and I needed some fun after this dreary day.”

She blushed when his shirt fell. His training was visible, and there were not many scars on his skin.

“You were at a tavern instead of attending our wedding night. It is a tavern of ill repute.”

He started to wander through her room like a caged lion. She had to be careful. Her heart beat at a war drum’s pace.

“Oh, come down from your high horse. I got thirsty after all the salty fish sauce you slosh on your food. Not enough wine, and it wasn’t even Dornish. The tavern appeased me. The wenches lifted my opinion about the female folk of Tarth. They had bosoms to speak off. They laughed. Can you imagine? A very special trick. You open your mouth when you are happy. It’s hard to describe.”

He laughed bitterly, sat on her table, and started to chuck off his boots. When he was done with one, he fumbled with the other.

“Why didn’t you stay there then?”

“Believe me, I wanted to. But Father sent his dog to fetch me. Apparently, it will bring misfortune to the house of a groom if he doesn’t spend the first night of his marriage in bed with his bride.”

“He sent a dog?”

“Clegane, a brute of a man with a dog helmet. You must have seen him. Fair of face. He reminds me of you. Speaking of dogs, I chased your watchdog away, this distasteful septa. She was lurking and sniffing at your door. And before you ask, you can’t take her with you. I will not allow it! What a scarecrow! Don’t tell me you are a pious one on top of all things.”

“I prayed to the Warrior that the worthier fighter should win our fight.”

“You are still young. I used to do that too. But praying is a waste of time. As you become older, you will learn that he is deaf when you need him the most. It must be from all the blows to his helmet, I reckon. But the septa stays here.”

“Roelle will be disappointed.”

“That's her problem…” His boots were off, so he wrestled with his trousers next. She looked away, dared to glimpse, and then cast her eyes down.

He swaggered to her bed. He was as naked as his name day and wore it without a hint of shame. Something fluttered in her stomach.

He sat down with a heavy thump. She smelt cheap ale and something musky.

“Move over. I’m tired.”

She gaped at him. “But!”

He lied down and threw an arm over his eyes. “Are you disappointed that there’s no bedding? I've had far too much ale for that, sweetling. By the way, where’s your chamber pot?”

She gulped. “Under the bed…”

He disappeared under her bed, and then he stood up and pissed. Pissed! It was indecent!

“Look. You don’t like me. I don’t like you. Why should we make it more miserable than it already is? Let's wait. We have time. At the moment, our fathers are happy. Then suddenly, everything might change. You might disarm me one day. That way, you can stay true to your oath and get your freedom. We have every right to dissolve a marriage that was never consummated. Till then, let’s make the best of it. We can spar. It will be fun.”

Relief flooded her. “We should live like brother and sister then?”

He cleared his throat and finished making his water. “Not exactly the words I would choose. Let’s say like brothers-in-arms.”

“But...” She hesitated. “There will be questions. They will look at the sheets…”

The tip of his tongue slipped through his lips. He was thinking. It was childish and oddly endearing. Her gaze dropped. No! Don’t look there. It… it was dripping…

He said, “Don’t worry!” He went to pick up his trousers. She was still shy but got a bit used to his form. His skin shone like gold. He came back with a dagger and slashed it over his well-muscled forearm. Then, he tore at her sheets. She shrieked, shielding her private parts and her breasts with her arms. She felt warm all over. Letting his eyes wander over her flimsily clad form, he said, “Decent legs. But the freckles… I wonder where they stop.” His blood dropped onto the bed. “Don’t worry. Tomorrow when you are in the hall for breakfast, I will take care of the finishing touches.”

He lied down again and passed her the dagger. “It’s yours.”

It was a magnificent dagger with a glittering blade and lions and rubies at the handle. Forgetting about her mortification, Brienne asked, “Why?”

He threw the sheets over them, flung his arm over her shoulder, and snuggled close. “I move from castle to castle… I can’t live for a long time in the vicinity of my father… You've met him, so you'd understand. Since I’m back from Volantis, my main duty is to protect the Gold Road and bring sunken castles and holdfasts around the Sunset Sea back in shape. At the moment, I’m at Faircastle. It would suit you.”

“Don’t mock me!”

“I don’t. It’s on an isle. But I wanted to tell you about the dagger, wench. Don’t distract me. They have a ghost there, Tess. There are beautiful songs about her. They're melancholic; you would like them. Tess was forced to be one of the saltwives of the horrible Red Kraken, the most despised Ironborn. She slashed his throat with his own dagger on the first night he took her to his bed. And…” His voice was getting tired. “You can’t imagine how much blood there is when you go for the throat. It won’t stop gushing, till every white sheet, every white cloak is stained. She was a brave one, poor Tess. She jumped down a cliff to flee her death sentence. She was lowborn. No one would buy her free. A Lannister avenged her. She slew a dozen Ironborn on her own and made another into her fool and…”

“She?”

“Another song for another night…”

“But why are you gifting me with a dagger then?”

He cracked his eyes open, moss green in the light. “You can’t murder me with my own dagger anymore! I don’t have one here.” Then he closed his eyes again.

“But…”

“It’s yours now, my lady. It’s yours.” His hair tickled her skin.

He fell asleep, while Brienne stayed wide awake. He snored, and the lights, they wouldn’t stop shining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tess and the Red Kraken are canon. 
> 
> I hope the characters are not too ooc, they didn't experience the same trauma in this AU and Brienne is a bit more naive. Although I enjoy reading protofeminist Selwyn very much, I couldn’t align him with this story.
> 
> Next: Journey to Storm’s End, some adventure and - gosh, is there romance?


	3. Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The passage to Storm’s End, some adventure (nothing too drastic), and a sky full of stars.

Tyrion’s patchy hands shook Jaime awake. The ship was gently rolling. He groaned: “Are we there yet?”

“Not yet. We will arrive in the morn, but... ”

“Leave me alone! I want to sleep the passage off.”

He tried to roll over. Tyrion joined him on the cot and went on shaking: “I’m bored. Get up!”

He sat up, at least his headache was gone. The only private cabin in the Tarth brigantine was cramped and smelled of tar. For some reason, father had decided to stay on Tarth with the bulk of the Lannister men, he would join them later at Storm’s End. If Jaime got what he wished for, it had been a final goodbye.

Jaime preferred his family’s ships with all their luxury, especially the Pride of the West, that was widely admired for her smooth woodwork and silken sheets. The Sapphire Waters, Lord Selwyn swiftest ship, was not a bad one. But she was built for efficiency and practicality and not for coddling the passengers’ fancy. His stomach grumbled. Dry ship’s biscuits ahoy!

“Is it dinner time yet? Where’s my wife?”

“Not yet.” Tyrion offered him a wineskin, Jaime went for the water pitcher.

“Your giantess is on deck with your men. They spare with her.”

“Good. I ordered them to entertain her.”

The slash on his forearm itched, and he scratched it. It had scabbed over nicely.

Tyrion’s mismatched eyes were following his movement: “Battle wound from the fight?”

“So to speak.”

“How sharp a blunted blade might cut, I wonder... Do you trust Addam?”

“You underestimate Addam. I told him to treat her like a knight.”

“How peculiar! But sit, Jaime, and spill the beans. How was it? She seems loose.“

He sat down: „How was what? The night? It was dark. And you mean the stern maid of Tarth is relaxed? Never!“

„O, interesting... still maid then. You didn’t perform.“

He couldn’t remember everything that had happened last night. But he was quite certain she stayed a virgin. The scratch on his arm was proof for it. There hadn’t been tears, and they had reached some accord. She wouldn’t bother him. He only had to leave her alone.

„I didn’t say that I refused the deed. I don’t want to talk about it. A gentleman never tells.”

“Come on! Something changed her demeanor, what was it, if not your cock. Spill the beans...”

“Shut up!“

As if that could stop his noisy brother.

Tyrion said: “You seemed happy this morning, too. Hangover, but still... I hoped...”

“I am happy! I’m looking forward to visit Storm’s End.”

“You mean to see Cersei. Uggh.” He made a gagging noise. Jaime kicked him with the elbow in his rips. 

“She is your sister, too.”

Tyrion changed the subject: „You missed some fun at the Fishy Bucket. Nice whores there too. Blonde ones. A shame that Clegane dragged you by the ear to your beast’s lair.”

“Don’t call her beast...”

Jaime slapped his brother on the back of his head. They grappled.

Tyrion slithered free and exclaimed triumphantly: “You always had a thing for the grotesque. You care about her already dear brother. Where there is care, there might grow love. But always know, you can never trust a woman unless you buy her.”

That was a path Jaime was not willing to walk. Tyrion didn’t need to dwell in bad memories about his short marriage. Jaime would never reveal his part in why it had ended. He said: “Pay her? They paid me. With three marble quarries. By the way, did you found out, why father wants them?”

That did the trick, Tyrion stopped to talk about matters of the heart.

“Tell me again how father came up with the idea to wed you to a Tarth.”

“I don’t know, I told you a dozen times. He lectured me again, about my duties to the family, to wed and produce heirs. He talked about maidens from the Reach, the Riverlands, even Essos and Dorne. Then we disagreed and suddenly he said ‘Tarth, the marbles of Tarth’. He clearly lost his marbles.”

“Not father, no. Where did you fight? In his solar, in the hall, in the yard? Give me details to work with.”

“In mother’s crypt. Emotional blackmail for sure.”

“In the crypt, I’m not allowed to enter, remind me how it looks like.”

“I sneaked you in, once. Don’t you remember? It’s creepy, and deep down in the caves, who wants to go there? The floor is wet from the sea, father had lit hundreds of candles. He has lighted one for every moon since her death, and they are not allowed to burn down. Flowers, statues... you have seen it.”

“So he told you what do to, you didn’t agree and then...”

“I got angry, I hurt my fist, I might have smashed a statue down. A nice one, the Mother, she looked a bit like our mother.”

“I can’t remember her looks. She died at my birth. I murdered her, father says.”

“Come one... you were tinier as you are now. Don’t listen to father.”

“Carry on. Father got angry, and afterward...”

“No, it was strange. It cleared the air. He was... how to call it... more wistful.”

“And this statue was made from Tarth marble?”

“I’m not interested in the arts. It was white. Might have been.”

“So he saw it as a sign from late Johanna. That makes sense. Mother always makes him sentimental, her memory muddles his head. But I’m sure, there is more behind it. I couldn’t decide yet what it is. We can’t rely on gold alone, the mined could run dry one day. Father already started to diversify his assets. He is buying bridges with toll rights in all of Westeros, you know. I wish he would discuss it with me. I could advise him better than you can. His hatred towards me is his loss. Maybe he wants to mine marble now? And Tarth is prone to trade, it’s the last station before Essos. It’s a miracle they are not using this benefit already. The Evenstar must be as thick in his head as he is big. Then I have another theory. But it’s a bit treasony, don’t discuss it with your wife. Maybe father is fed up, that we have can’t mint our gold as we did as we were kings, maybe he wants to gain more by shipping it to the Iron Bank? Who knows? Yesterday I was spending the hours between the fight and the ceremony in the library. I talked with the maester and the septon pretending to care only about historical records. There are some peculiar mysteries in the history of the island. I even questioned the whores yesterday. I’m quite the little scholar, am I not? They had to stop sucking to answer.  
Anyhow, once there were two major families in Tarth. The Tarths in the Western half, Morne in the East. Now the hall of Morne stays in ruins. They said Evenfall Hall was enlarged with Morne’s broken towers. The quarries we got as dowry are Morne ones, not used at the moment... father will have to invest a lot to make them run. I wonder if they are worth it. Why not demand quarries that are still in use?I’m very curious about Morne’s downfall. Tarth has a beautiful legend. Galladon of Morne was a such magnificent warrior that the Maiden herself fell in love with him and she gifted him with a magical sword...”

Jaime who had tuned out during the economics lecture perked up: “Tell me about it!”

“Ask your just Maiden. I’m sure she will gladly obey.”

“I’m hungry, let’s go.”

**********J&B**********  
  


They left the cabin and went on deck. Jaime felt muddled, and the swaying was bothering his gait. The Tarth brigantine had grayish sails. At the mainmast, over the crow’s nest their flag fluttered merrily, the oars could stay put. High in a sky a seagull was soaring in the wind. What did the Tarth folk say about seagulls, again? Good tidings, for sure. The sun was staying low on the horizon. The sea was wide and beautiful. He breathed the refreshing air deep into his lungs.

Some of his knights were standing with his wife at the bow. He left Tyrion behind to reach them swiftly. His wife and Addam were engaged in an intense discussion. She was wearing men’s garb, his dagger at her hip. He had gifted it to her, hadn’t he? Her straw-like hair was windblown and stiff with salt, her complexion rosy, the eyes wide and fixed on Addam, who was standing very close to her, leaning against the railing, and smiling. She bent her head to hear him against the rush of the waves. They were so deep into their exchange that they didn’t react to his arrival. His hand went to his pommel, his voice harsh and commanding: “Wife, Ser Addam.”

Addam straightened immediately: “Ser Jaime! We missed you.”

All warmth had left her eyes and she looked at him coolly, not a hint of a smile: “My husband at last. I hope your sleep was refreshing. We are blessed with the most favorable wind.” 

Her open disdain made her polite words grate at his nerves. He walked closer, so their shoulder touched briefly. Addam retreated two steps back.

They launched an awkward discussion about winds, and ships and he started to reminisce with Addam about that memorable storm in Valyria, when...

Suddenly a shout from the lookout and everything changed.

“Starboard! One galley. Pirates!”

**********J&B**********

His mind went instantly clear. He started to develop a battle plan at once: two men at the bow, two at the rear, the squires and Tyrion at the bridge, three at starboard, where the pirates would attack. The ship captain came to them, reported which sailors could fight and how well. The knights who had been under deck arrived quickly. The squires run for the armor. The captain, a hardened and competent looking fellow accepted Jaime’s lead. He informed him about the pirates’ usual weaponry and tactics. He assumed they saw the Tarth flag and were looking for hostages and ransom. The Sapphire Waters was visibly not a trade ship. They must be desperate to attack it.

Jaime decided to wait, perhaps they wouldn’t attack when they realized that the ship was well-armed. Everyone on board accepted his command. Everyone but one.

The woman had the nerve to say: “We should meet them head-on, and chase them. Maybe arrows and fire. If they survive, they remain a threat to the good people who are sailing on the Narrow Sea. We have the means to defeat them. It’s our obligation.”

“Arrows are for cowards. What do you know about offensive fights?”

She bristled: “Enough to know when they are the better choice!”

“How many pirates ships have you defeated? How many fights with sharp weapons won?”

“What makes you think this ship is under your command? Technically this ship is mine, and so the command belongs to me.”

“Technically you are a woman and belong under-deck, while we men are fighting and guarding your safety.”

She gaped at him: “But you said... you told me... don’t you remember? Brothers in arms. You suggested that...”

“Addam, Swyft, lead her down.”

She glared, and he almost enjoyed it.

**********J&B**********

The crew of the Sapphire Waters and his well-trained men had all the advantage. The pirates were a poor sodden bunch, not at all like the Iron Born. His knights' instincts were well-honed in fighting much more dangerous pirates.

Jaime’s latest opponent was laying on the deck in a puddle of blood, and gripped at his open guts. Jaime cut his jugular quickly. One problem solved. He looked around. Swyft, the mad man, chased a pirate in the rigging, dagger between his teeth. His squire Peck did very well by the bridge. Soon he had to knight him. He hoped he would join his men. Addam fought against two men at once, an impressive slash out of the window guard. Who had thought him that? He had to ask him. And there — his jaw dropped — there on the bridge, like on stage, stood his wife in mail and fought the leader of the pirates. She used her height to full advantage, powerful blows from above. But whenever she should press to finish him off, she hesitated. As if she was in a tourney and not in a fight over life and death. She fought like a knight in a fairy tale and not a man who wants to kill. She was a sight to behold, but if he didn’t act quickly he would be a widower soon. He shouted at her, to no avail. It was too noisy to carry his warnings to the rear. Carefully to not slip on blood and fall because of the rocking ship, he jogged near her and shouted again: “Wench, kill him, now!”

She didn’t react. “Brienne! Go for the weak spots. Guts, femoral. Brienne, aim for the eyes!”

And so she did. The pirate fell. It was the last one. They won. He raised his arms and shouted in triumph, pride surging through his veins. His men and the crew followed suit: “Hear me roar!” But she didn’t join them. Her astonishing blue eyes were wide and shocked. Her shoulders dropped, her sword fell to the ground.

**********J&B**********

The fare was much better than anticipated. There were dry ship biscuits, thankfully without worms, and a peppery mussel soup that settled his grumbling stomach. He had to force his wife to eat. She hadn’t eaten much at the wedding feast, at that rate she would waste away, a shame for her muscles. The Westerlanders shared their wineskins with the crew, and the captain looked the other way.

Dice rolled, Tyrion tried to challenge his wife in a game of cyvasse, but she refused. A sailor produced a hurdy-gurdy, another a flute and soon they sang. No “Farewell, o brother”, thanks to the Gods, more bawdy and rowdy songs that were to his liking. She stayed subdued and wouldn’t even hum. 

As the first notes of one of his favorite songs started, he joined in and she looked at him with disdain, so he raised his voice: “... in a spring-fed pool...”and brawled the rhyming “fool” with a most annoying tremolo. 

At this moment Daven came over and slept his meaty paw at his wife's shoulder as if she were one of the men. His wife winced, Daven sat down: 

“Well fought, my lady! Your first kill?”

She nodded meekly.

“Impressive! One for the Stranger’s hood. The blade went straight through his head... one pirate done, eleven to go and you can claim to be as fierce as the fabled Joanna from the songs. Only the gelding is pending. Or have you already done that last night?”

He roared with laughter, his bushy beard shook.

Jaime said quietly: “Stop. At once. Stop.”

“By the way, coz...” His hazel eyes chased his gaze: “Jaime what would you do, if someone of us had refused your orders? You would punish and not feed them with the best morsels. You sent her under-deck, and there she was, on the bridge, a sword in her hand.”

“She is my wife, not my soldier.”

“So it’s even more important. A husband should chastise a wife who doesn’t obey him.”

She looked stricken then glared at him and Daven: “I took down the leader of the bunch!”

Jaime laid his hand over hers that was gripping a knife. Her hand was almost as big as his. She trembled. Her hand was made to grip a sword, not a knife.

He looked cooly at Daven: “Never give me orders what to do. Never again.”

“I was not ordering you. I was merely giving you good advice.”

“Advice that is neither needed nor wished for. Go.”

Daven went up and left them alone. Jaime stood up and offered his hand to his wife:

“A first real fight is brutal. Come...”

She followed his invention. He took her arm without asking and they wandered slowly to the bow. 

“Look,” he said, “the stars are up. And there in the West, the brightest one, that’s yours.”

“The sun has to set, that it shines. I have to be sad to show my worth.”

“You shouldn’t be sad. It was your first kill. And in fair battle, there’s nothing to be sad about. You should celebrate. Should we go back to the men and sing and dance? As the only woman on board, you would be in high demand.”

“I don’t want to celebrate the death of a man. Even if he was a hateful person. Does killing make you happy? Were you glad after your first deadly win?”

“No, I wasn’t, and it makes me not happy. The fight, yes. But never the aftermath.”

“Why are you suggesting then, that I should be happy?”

He shrugged. They had reached the bow, and he made a little nest with ropes and sat down. She stayed afoot.

“Should I tell you about my first real killing?”

“Please, do.”

She followed his invention and joined his perch on the ropes.

“I squired for Sumner Crakehall. Merlon Crakehall, Addam’s squire is a relative of him. The sturdy one with the boar... late in my squireship we joined a campaign against the Kingswood Brotherhood, together with the Kingsguard. I was so excited. I adored the Kingsguard. The best and worthiest knights in the realm. How naive, I was. These outlaws were vicious... Brienne, imagine today’s pirates ten folds.”

She shivered.

“Do you feel cold?”

He laid his cloak around her shoulders: “Better? They still sing songs about these outlaws. They kidnapped nobles for ransom, even another squire of Crakehall. Merret Frey, he was rather clumsy with the sword, and a bully, and to be honest he deserved his fate. Wenda the White Fawn captured him and...” he had to laugh “she branded his ass with her sigil.”

Brienne giggled, and something clenched in his gut. Maybe the mussels?

“Don’t laugh, my lady, after we ransomed him back, he couldn’t sit for two weeks and was never the same after it. One wonders what she did with him. He would never tell. But a fawn on his arse might change every man. Don’t you think? Whatever, we had to destroy the outlaws. We could rat them out, because the noblest of the Kingsguard, Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning could gain the confidence of the smallfolk, and they told us their hiding place. The battle was brutal, we slaughtered them. Big Belly Ben was on the brink of killing lord Crakehall. I jumped in and saved my knight... that was it. My sword tasted blood. My blood was high from the fight, but I will never forget his broken eyes.”

“So you understand then? 

“I do.”

“And how to you dealt with it?” 

“I didn’t. One day you get used to it. But you never forget the first one... I wish my first, had a better name, though. My father commissioned a song, but ‘How the Young Lion wants his bacon’ never became popular.” He sighed dramatically. “Can you tell me why? It’s so unfair!”

She giggled again: “what happened then?”

“There’s a much better song about Big Belly Ben, something with the High Septon’s goose, or was it his gander? I never remember these lyrics. Ask Addam!”

He winked at her.

“No, not with Big Belly Ben. But with the campaign! What happened next?”

“I crossed my sword with the Smiling Knight, the most wicked of the outlaws. Dayne saved my ass and knighted me after the battle. But that is a story for another night. Should we commission a song about your fight? Had the pirate told you his name before he killed him? I hope it was something dashing! What about ‘Sapphire’s wrath’. It has a certain ring to it, hasn’t it?”

“No songs please...”

“Are you still sad?”

She gave him a weak smile. It was too dark to see her eyes, her teeth shimmered whitely: “I’m better.”

“Good! It’s a wonderful night. We shouldn’t waste it on gore. Let’s stargaze! I bet I can name more constellations than you can.”

He started with the Galley; she knew the Sow. He gave the Moon Maid and got the Crone’s Lantern in exchange. Stallion and Ghost, King’s Crown and Shadow Cat followed swiftly. To his astonishment, she didn’t know the Sword of the Morning and claimed they called it differently at Tarth. He had to show her, but she couldn’t follow his description. So he pressed their bodies together. She was warmer than him and smelt of the sea. He aligned their arms and used his finger as a pointer. 

“Ah, she said, that’s not the Sword of the Morning, that’s the Just Maid. The sword the Maiden herself gifted to Gallodon of Tarth.”

“No, you are wrong! Our maester taught me everything about astronomy, and he knows his stuff, his bronze link is the shiniest in his chain.”

He carried on, he had to ask her about this sword one day. As his pointer traveled from the pommel to the tip of the blade a shooting star went down.

“Quickly,” he said, “make a wish and keep it a secret.”

As always he thought of the sea, a cabin, a litter of blond cubs playing with wooden swords and the warm feeling of belonging. Tomorrow he would see Cersei... He wondered what Brienne wished for, and would she ever tell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big confession. Jaime didn’t kill Big Belly Ben, but only attacked him. I had already written this part when I found out, and I was too lazy to write a new joke. Do we know the name of the first man Jaime killed? I couldn’t find it.
> 
> I check canon info mostly on https://awoiaf.westeros.org.
> 
> Cudos and comments are very encouraging, thank you all!  
>    
> Next up: Cersei being Cersei, a good sibling bond, a sudden departure.


	4. Slight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stormy moods at Storm’s End, siblings, and rash decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people are still reading. However I’m a bit afraid this is becoming the annoying fic that clogs the timeline. I made the main summary very short and don’t plan to add more tags so it’s faster too skip. If I think there’s something that could be a trigger, I will add it to the notes.

In the early morning, the Sapphire Waters was approaching Storm’s End‘s harbor and was swiftly roared into the shadow of the gigantic keep. Instead of being impressed, Brienne’s husband stretched and yawned, like a bored lion.

He said lazily: “Have you ever seen an uglier castle?“

“This keep is not built to look pretty. It’s built to break storms.“

“You can have beauty and strength. Have you ever left Tarth before?”

“Once, to come here.”

“Wait till I show you other castles in the realm... Or if you visit them on your own. You must learn about sieges, in case you want to become a knight.” He chuckled, it was obnoxious. “To break a castle, its appearance shouldn’t dazzle you. Sturdy castles fall quickly if you know how to attack them.”

She was skeptical and gestured into the direction of the keep: “You believe you could break _this_ castle?”

“If I wish to storm it, of course I could.”

“You are boasting. Which trebuchet could aim so high? Which battering ram could smash its gates?”

“They wouldn’t, my lady. For a successful siege you only need time. One day the biggest granaries are empty, hunger and desperation creep in. Then I would sneak someone in who throws some rotten swines into the wells, then victory is ours.”

“First of all, that’s not gallant, and second didn’t you tell me that it’s boring to wait during fights?”

“It is boring, my lady, but highly efficient. I should tell you how my ancestor Lann the Clever won the Rock. It took him nine months. Although it’s not a tale for innocent ears. The best tactic will always be time. Had you stayed true to it, you might have won our fight, too.”

She bristled, and he laughed. 

She said: “Yesterday I acted quickly and won.”

“You followed my orders, like the good soldier you are. See, you have to listen to me and everything goes well.”

She remembered the blood of the pirate, the hollow feeling after the fight. It didn’t go well. Ser Goodwin had sent her to the butcher to train killing. She had slaughtered piglets for days. It hadn’t prepared her to kill off a men. His howls blended with the memory of the screaming pigs. 

She turned and left him standing at the bow. He shouted after her: “Wear a dress! A nice one.”

As if she wouldn’t. It was good that he reminded her of his real nature this morning. Yesterday he had almost been kind. She had been shivering in their cot, shaken by fright and her final thrust into the eye of the pirate. He had sent Peck for hot ale. She had been grateful. At her wedding night he had suggested they shouldn’t consume the marriage and live as brothers in arms. She was not sure whether that should please her or whether it was insulting. They had promised more to each other in the sept. Did they live in sin by refusing to follow their oaths?

His words were mean, but his acts were kind. Why was he acting as he did? To lure her in, to deceive her? A false charm that would hurt her even more? But what did he gain from it? Was she only a prey, he liked to play with, before finishing it off? That seemed outlandish. In any case, she preferred him mocking and cruel like this morning. So she knew he was true. Pleasantries and praise were nothing more than lies. She would never forget septa Roelle’s lessons, how cruel they had been. She had to remind herself time and again what he was and what she was. She wouldn’t fall for a trap. She wouldn’t allow him to sneak rotten pigs into her well.

  
**********J&B**********

  
Later this morning lady Baratheon greeted them with salt and bread in the hall. The hall was magnificent, it was boasting high windows with stained glass, masterful tapestries of famous battles, vicious war axes, and antlered deer skulls on the walls. Only Lord Baratheon was absent, but the castle showed his might.

Brienne curtsied, the lady’s cool green eyes swept over the length of Brienne’s body. Lady Baratheon sneered.

She greeted her back and said: “You haven’t changed much, since we last met, the same... formidable... or should I say strapping stature? And yet, there is a Lannister dagger at your hip.”

The lordlings and maidens around them snickered. She felt like a disgusting fable animal from far far away. How she longed to be small! Brienne fixed her eyes on the ground, the beams of sunlight painting it in yellow and black. 

Her husband said: “My lady, dear sister, I present you, my wife.”

Her husband introduced her as if his sister would approve her. Brienne raised her gaze. How similar the twins appeared. Like a statue of the Warrior and one of the Maid, hewn from the same block of marble, and created by the same sculptor who likes to use the same sharp features, slanted eyes, and curved lips for all his creations. Why should he change a recipe for perfection? It was uncanny how beautiful the twins were together. No one would laugh, had he presented a wife that looked like his sister.

He kissed his twin’s hand. They exchanged some smiles that were reaching his eyes but wouldn’t touch hers. They talked with glances, a silent conversation no other was privy to. It changed her husband. He seemed almost giddy, and was there a hint of a blush on his shaven cheeks? Her gut clenched. Was she jealous that blushing enhanced his beauty while it was blooming beet red in Brienne’s face and made her even more ugly? Or was she jealous that the twins seemed so close? Why? She loved Galladon, too.

At this moment someone shouted a booming “Lady Lannister” across the hall.

Lady Baratheon looked up sharply, Brienne turned around. Galladon was running to her. He hugged her, lifted her, and spun her around.

She mumbled: “Put me down!”

He lifted her higher and beamed up at her: “Little sister, you should stop growing! Or I will not be able to do this much longer! How are you doing in the yard these days?”

Cersei Lannister said: “How cozy! Is there anything as pure as the love between brother and sister?”

After Brienne sent him a scolding look, Galladon remembered his manners, put her down, and greeted Lady Baratheon and her brother.

Her husband said: “She is doing fine in the yard. You should have seen our fight.”

Lady Baratheon said: “I have still problems to fully understand the Northern fashion of maidens with swords...”

“But that’s not true, as a child you always wanted mine.”

“Did I?” Her gaze swept downwards her brother’s form, “there’s a certain allure, isn’t it? Especially about Lannister blades. But,” she turned to Brienne “sister, then we are sisters now, aren’t we? You should try to fight some of my maidens during your stay. I heard I didn't have to be ashamed of their skill.”

Her husband laughed: “No, Cersei, no. She would trash them into the ground. You wouldn’t be able to marry them off after. The fight between me and her, it was a fair one. Truly.”

Galladon said: “O, I should have come to Tarth to see it. You two have to recount to me every stance and thrust. Unfortunately I can’t spare time to whiteness every time my sister fights another betrothed. I’m very proud of her, Ser Jaime. Never forget that. I’m also not bad with a sword. You will let her keep fighting, I hope? Unless she is thick with child, of course.”

Brienne said quickly: “He will always let me fight. He said it.”

She winced. When had she started to believe the promises of an oathbreaker? Don’t fall for a trap, keep your well clean, Brienne!

**********J&B**********  
  


Galladon and Brienne were standing on the battlements of the high keep. It must be almost as high as the mountains of Tarth. The people below them were tiny as insects, the wind so loud, she couldn’t hear the waves.

She sighed: “I will miss the Shipbreaker Bay.”

Galladon said: “I bet you will love the Sunset Sea.”

“I will miss Evenfall Hall.”

“And get a magnificent castle instead. Casterly Rock never was broken.”

“I will miss you and father and Ser Goodwin...”

“Were you ever truly happy at Tarth? You are afraid of the unknown. That’s to be expected. Soon there will be children and you will get used to the Lannister grandeur. You will think of us with nostalgia, but there’s so much more for you in-store.”

Suddenly she was on the brink of tears. Galladon pulled her braid and engulfed her in his arms. It felt like home. He led her to a windshielded corner, and they sat down at the ground as they had done as children. Brienne wanted to cross her legs, but her stupid dress wouldn’t allow it. She took her dagger out of its sheath and pointed it in turn at her fingertips. Her fingers were thick and calloused. Her hands didn’t look like a lady’s should.

“Did your husband give you this dagger as a wedding gift? It suits you. A beautiful piece, look at the filigree. The little lions are chasing each other.”

“No, it wasn’t a wedding gift. He gave it to me on a whim.”

“It was his personal dagger? O, sister... This means something.”

“No, you read it wrongly, it was not romantic, it was akin to a jape.”

She put it away. The sky was full of grey clouds, seagulls were soaring. Galladon didn’t answer, she sighed.

“There are seagulls at the Sunset Sea. You will see. Tell me, little sister, is he kind to you?

“You know about him. He is the last husband I would have chosen.”

“This match is very beneficial for our house. It will make my marriage prospects so much better. You did well in letting him win.”

“I did not. He is truly good with the blade.”

“And he seems to approve of your fighting. I think I even detected a hint of awe in his face as he gloated about your skills talking to his sister. Wasn’t that what you always wanted? To find a husband who can beat you and let you keep your sword?”

“Yes, but I was more thinking of one like... like Renly Baratheon... not him exactly. But someone similar. Someone kind and beautiful, someone who has honor. But where am I, to think I can choose? Had I been born a proper maid and pretty, my life would be different.”

She looked up into the sky. A gale pushed the clouds around, fierce as a shepherd dog with his cattle.

“You are better in the yard than Renly, he wouldn’t have won your hand. Are you still nursing this silly maiden crush? I don’t like rumors, but listen, they aren’t rumors. I’ve seen it, with my own eyes. When knights are alone for a long time, they often share more with each other than the Gods would approve. It’s not uncommon. But with Renly? It’s more with him. He never lusted after a maiden.”

“Why should that bother me? I need no love. I need acceptance.”

“You have to share a bed to get children. And you have to do something in bed, sharing is not enough. Now you are a woman, you know what I mean, don't you?"

“I don’t need children. I need a husband who doesn’t mock me and hates me and didn’t broke the holiest of oaths.”

“Do you know why he broke that oath to the Mad King? Maybe they called him mad for a reason. You should ask.”

Far away there was thunder.

“Why should I? He would lie, anyway.”

“He is the only one who knows the truth. And about Renly... I never wanted to tell you about this... But now I have to. Renly’s has a squire, Loras Tyrell, his favorite, he is a prodigy with the sword, and has a wicked tongue that just as sharp. One day he was saying very unkind things about you. Renly didn’t interfere. I should have challenged him. But Loras is very close to Renly. I would have lost my place at his table, it would have disgraced Tarth. I couldn’t. I did bad as a brother but well as an heir. Sometimes they are conflicting urges inside you. I do not know whether I choose the wrong one.”

A fat drop of rain splashed on her nose and she wiped it away.

She gulped: “I understand. And who wouldn’t make jokes about me? Even my husband does.”

Galladon’s voice was angry: “What does he say?”

“That I want to be a knight. That I look better in men’s garb. He calls me swordwench!”

“But isn’t that true? And swordwench is rather fitting.”

She groaned and he ruffled her hair.

“Try to forget about his past and give him a chance. He seemed to like your skill with a sword. That’s better than nothing. One day there could even be love.”

She said vehemently: “Never!”

He laughed, but sobered quickly: “Spare me the details, but at the wedding night, and the next one was he gentle with you? Most women don’t enjoy their first time. You will get used to it. Some men like it if they can please their wives. It makes them feel worthy. Some men enjoy being cruel. If he hasn't been cruel till now, you are lucky. If he was cruel, I could smash his shiny teeth.”

She flushed: “I... I... you wouldn’t be able to beat him. I think he was gentle. He packed the whittled animals you made for me into my trunk, he gifted me with his dagger. And yesterday evening at the ship, we got ambushed by pirates. I killed one and was upset, and he made me eat and sent for hot ale.”

“You have to tell me about this ambush shortly! I’m very interested. But what kind of answer is that? I asked about the marriage bed and not about daggers and pirates.”

“I can’t tell you more.”

It started to rain in earnest.

He pulled her braid again: “Still a shy maiden at heart I see. But I think I got my answer. Let’s go inside.“ He rose and offered her his hand to get up. „Should we talk about the pirates? Or do you want to hear about our last hunting campaign in the Mountains of the Moon? About the shadowcat that attacked me? A fine coat it will make and an even better tale.”

She really did.  
  
  


**********J&B**********

The pirate’s rancid breath filled her nostrils. His eyes were full of hatred. Would this be her last moment? She screamed.

“Wench!“

She woke up. Outside it was pouring. The room was still smelling of her lavender bath. It had been only a dream. Startled she realized that she was not at home and not alone. Jaime Lannister stood by the dwindling flames of the fireside and looked in her direction, his silhouette dark against the light. The backlight obscured his expression.

For one moment she thought he wanted to claim his right as a husband. There was something feral in his stance, wild and wounded. Excitement flushed her, it was strange and confusing. Where was her fear? 

“Get up. We are leaving.“

“What? Now?“

He nodded. 

“Where are we going?”

He shifted. Was he angry? 

“To the West.”

“Why? What’s going on? I was looking forward to our stay here.”

“Me too. But that changed.”

“What will your father say? Your sister?”

“I don’t care. My brother can deal with them. We will meet my father soon enough at the Rock. He will travel to Kingslanding after he finishes business here and then take the gold road. We take another route, we will skip Kingslanding. You wouldn’t enjoy it. It reeks like the shithole it is. We will then take the kingsroad, till it crosses the river road, we can stay on this road till Lannisport. So we prevent my father catching up on us. Mostly there are inns, but have you ever slept outdoors?”

“One night or two. In the woods and mountains of Tarth on a sheep hunt. But... about our leave, I wanted to spend time here, with my brother and see other people I know.”

He stroked his chin, then asked: “You want a knightly adventure. A quest? Let’s look for one. So at least one of us gets what she wants. Have you ever attended a tourney? In half a moon’s turn, there’s a one at Riverrun. If we ride hard, we will make it. Are you so sure on horseback as with the blade?“

She nodded: “That’s sounds exciting. But in the middle of the night? Surely we could wait a day or two and pack properly. Why the hurry? And I have to inform my brother... And what about your sister? You seem close. Will she not be slighted, if we run away in the middle of the night?”

“There’s no time for this discussion. You can choose. You can stay here and travel with my father or you can come with me and my men. I don’t care. You can travel on horseback and in armor or in dresses and in a comfy coach, you decide, but quickly.”

“I’ll come with you.”

He took some swift steps, ripped the door open, and yelled: “Peck!” 

Almost as soon as the echo in the corridor had died down, the squire arrived with unruly hair and sleepy eyes. He looked curiously at Brienne, then turned to his knight.

“Peck, we are leaving at once. Inform my men. We meet at the stables at the hour of the Wolf sharp. We ride in mail, one packhorse for two knights for armor and provisions. No tents and no lances.”

“Yes, ser!”

“Tell my brother! He will not ride with us, but he will want to know. And tell my lady’s brother. And Peck... Daven should stay with my brother.”

Peck dashed away and Brienne stood up to pack. She didn’t need dresses to go on an adventure, did she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some meta about Brienne, longish, sorry (and not important for the story).
> 
> I fully agree that Brienne has typical Westerosi female longings. To be a warrior is not her only wish. However, before she learns the harsh reality of knighthood I think her main urge was to flee the expectations they put on women. She hopes to get acceptance in a male role.  
> I think she is the most romantic character in the book (competing with Sansa). She fell in love with Renly. She doesn’t see herself as worthy of reciprocal love and acts as the male hero in a tragic love song. (In the Middle Ages unrequited love was idealized and seen as the highest form of courtly love.)  
> Society punished her when she tried to picture herself as the maiden of the songs due to her appearance. So she started to see herself as the knight in the stories and in rl before she had to learn that the reactions she got in this role were at least as cruel (Tarly and the bet).  
> She learns about her nurturing side (Caring for Jaime, Podrick, the children at the inn...), and motherhood is in her thoughts. But she doesn’t think both is a possibility. 
> 
> I love this quote very much: “More like she’d be at Nightsong, swaddling a child and nursing another. It was not a new thought for Brienne. It always made her feel a little sad, but a little relieved as well.” (Brienne III AFFC)
> 
> The Evenstar shines in the twilight, connects the worlds of day and night. Also her coat of arms is azure and rose colored. I think GRRM works with the old color connotations, blue is female, red is male (I didn’t verify it though). To come to full circle, she has to integrate both sides. 
> 
> At this stage in my story she kind of gets what she thinks (!) that she wants: to be treated as a brother in arms. Her other urges - romantic love, a good marriage, children - are suppressed. She can not express them fully, but Jaime’s behavior towards her annoys her. She thinks her annoyance stems from the not fulfilled wow they swore in the sept.
> 
> Next: Jaime rushes through the Stormlands, an attempted, and a real confession.


	5. Spite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hard ride, beastly love, some exploring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The end of the chapter is NSFW, I hope no one has to work today!
> 
> For the ones who can celebrate: Merry Christmas! For the ones who can’t celebrate: I'm sorry, at least there are so many festive fics, enjoy!  
> This chapter is not very sevemassy, so the posting date feels wrong. Although... being Jaime Lannister, on a white steed, rushing through the Stormlands, clad in Brienne’s cloak, goes pretty far in covering my wish list. And then there’s some religious talk.

Finally, the rain had stopped. A harsh and sickening sun chased the clouds away. Birds began to chirp in an annoying display of romance. Jaime’s temples were throbbing. This was the worst day of his life. He had trouble to process it, it felt like when you listen to a song and it dawns on you that it’s your misery they are singing about. No, it’s not a farfetched resemblance, the craven lion that sneakily attacks a mighty dragon, that must be you. You dismiss it. You get angry. You try to bargain with the singers to stop.

Now he featured in a new song, about a lioness who chooses to leer after a crown instead of accepting her mate. This couldn’t be him. This couldn’t be Cersei. He must have dreamt last night’s tunes.

The horses were sloshing through the mud. He rode at the head of his group. His white horse had started the journey in excitement to feel solid ground under its hooves but was getting more tired by the league. Jaime was not able to rest yet.

He suddenly remembered his mother telling her twins, how tears were a woman’s weapon, and the man’s weapon was a sword. But who do you attack to defend your heart? She had never told him.

Jaime looked over his shoulder. The small group was clad in gold and crimson. The faces were grim, but his men obeyed him without complaining. His wife stood out like a sore thumb, her garb all sensible gray Tarth wool. She rode beside Addam, in a safe distance away from him. Her eyes were the only bright ones, the prospect of an adventure exciting her. As their eyes met, hers filled with concern.

It grated him. He told Peck to organize a crimson cloak for her. The mail had to wait till they found a good blacksmith.

She accepted the cloak and disrobed her old one, while staying in the saddle. She refused Addam’s help. Before she could finish the task, Jaime spurred his stallion into a canter. They all took up speed. She did while fastening the strings of the Lannisters cloak. She hadn’t lied, she was a good rider. Her sturdy bay mare was following every hint the wench’s thick thighs were pressing into her sides.

Was he bound to her for life, after Cersei had dismissed all his pleas? A long life with this... it was too much to grasp. He wouldn’t die at old age anyway. He was craving risk like a drunkard his wineskin.

Jaime longed to fight her, to hear the clash of swords, feel the blood in his veins, to forget everything besides the anticipation about her next move. He couldn’t do it, or his men would think he was mad. He couldn’t lose all their respect. He had left Daven behind on purpose.

The others were loyal. Instead of letting them relax in Storm’s End, enjoy some deer hunts, and later the luxurious travel with the whole Lannister retinue, he had launched a manic campaign without rhyme or reason. At least he had the mind to take enough gold with him. There were some debts to pay in the not so far future. 

He reigned his horse around and rode to his wife and Marbrand. They slowed down.

“Ser Addam, you will take the lead. I will ride ahead to scout. Slow down, take some rest. We will meet this evening at the first inn at the Blueburn, right at the border to the Reach.”

Addam said: “Don’t ride your horse to death, Jaime. It’s a good one.”

He nodded briskly.

“But...” said his wife, “should you ride alone and so recognizable?” She gestured at his garb.

“You have a point. Give me your cloak, the Tarth one.”

“It is wet.”

“It will dry, they always do.”

**********J&B**********

  
Jaime was riding on, and on, and on. He passed hills and passed forests. There were hamlets and orchards and new hills. He was riding hard, all was a blur. The Stormland was stretching in front of him, the Crownsland to his left. The wind was striking his cheeks. The cloak was fluttering behind him. The sun passed its zenith. He lost the road and was pressing on. The beast was gulping for air and sweating foam.

Normally when he couldn’t bear to live in the moment, he went inside and let happy memories overpower him. Cersei’s whispers hushed the screams of Rhaella; Cersei’s perfume clouded the stink of Rickard Stark being cooked in his armor; Cersei’s caressing hands held him upright as he waited alone on the Iron Throne. What could he conjure up now? A fierce fight, acceptance of a dagger, some blinking stars? It felt like a joke.

Then they stood on the crest of a hill. Down there the Blueburn was snaking its way into the next kingdom, a place he didn’t long to reach. He rode back and forth, there was no path, only a steep gravel slope was leading downwards. He forced the horse to take up speed, it bucked, Jaime put his heels in its side. “Go!” He gripped its flanks with his calves, leaned forward, loosened the reins and down they went, and down, and down. It felt like it had felt when he jumped from the cliffs as a boy. They were surely sliding through gravel, didn’t trip over stones. One step as sure as the next one, no room for a misstep and no for regrets. The gravel crunched, the horse snorted, he whispered: “Go.”

There was no fall. His heart was racing, but all legs were hale, his skull wasn’t crushed. The horse neighed and he looked back. How fare they had come.

He patted the beast’s neck: “Good Boy!” His hands were shaking. They had made it against all odds. It was a good horse.

They were taking it slow to the bottom of the valley. The river was standing higher than Jaime remembered it. Near the ford, he jumped from the saddle, led the beast to the brink, and let it drink. Jaime’s legs were trembling. He took the waterskin, drank, and poured the rest over his face, then fed his horse with oatcakes. He wasn’t hungry. Now he had to cross the ford, and a league downstream was the inn. When he had reached it, there was nothing to do than to wait for his men. He preferred the company of the river and the horse over the wait in a noisy inn.

He hobbled the horse, patted it on its sweaty neck, and sat beside a somber looking willow into the grass. Was this day the start of a life full of misery or was there still hope? What had Cersei said? A distinct “no” shrilled in his ears and muted everything else.

They were alone in her room, the servants sent away. He had problems to concentrate on her diatribes. She was complaining about Robert, his whoring, and drinking. She nagged him about father and Tyrion, and explained something longish about a strain between King Rhaegar and his Queen. How could she concern herself with all these trivialities? It was the first time they could make love in two years... 

She had been drinking, and he had hoped it made her blood hot, her limbs loose, her mouth whispering sweet nothings. He had been nervous about his plan, but he had several weeks to convince her. And so he had laid siege and failed like the reckless fool he was. 

Although she had urged him to marry Brienne, it didn’t make her happy. According to her, his attitude towards his wife was too kind.

“But,” he said, “I don’t treat her like a woman! But as a mere man. I have only eyes for you.”

“You shouldn’t treat her as a man, but as the sow she is.”

“Let’s not talk about, my wife, Cers. Please listen... you have to escape. I have a plan. We could be together, only us, no one else.“

He sketched his hopes for their future, the ship to Essos, their peaceful life under the disguise of new names, the cabin at the sea, he relented soon to a palace.

“Far away from Kingslanding?” She asked and arched her thin golden brows. He tried to kiss her. She shoved him away.

He said: “Let’s not talk about the future. There’s time for it later. Let me kiss you.”

She did, her mouth was smelling bitter and rich like the Dornish. Her hands nestled at his breeches. 

“No brother,” she said and stroked him, “we belong here and not to the East. Rhaegar got bored with his first wife. It can happen again with Lyanna. Why do all men fall for her? I’m more beautiful, she cares only for horses. The King will fall for me. It is meant to be. My husband might have an accident then, also your wife. You can help me, perhaps it will happen during a hunt? Or a sudden fall into a well? Or an accident while she plays with swords? Afterward, I will marry the King and become what I was promised to be. He will be so enchanted that he will grant me every wish. He will make you a Kingsguard again. And we will always be together. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

She gripped him hard. Her nails were sharp, and he panted:

“Yes, we should be always together, two halves of one soul as you say. But, your plan is mad. - Cers! Not so hard! - My plan, please admit it, my plan is so much simpler. Yours can only fail. And I don’t want to be back in the Kingsguard and hide our love. Let’s go to Essos. We can marry there, be happy, have a simple life.”

Her hands went still and she released him. He felt bereft, she said: “No.”

“We can take your son with us if you like. I never dared to ask, but he doesn’t look like Robert’s. The hair, the face... is he mine?”

“No.”

“I would take him as my son if you wish. Even if he is Robert’s.”

She looked at him with cold eyes: “He isn’t Robert’s. What let you believe I don’t have several options? It’s only Robert or you? I can enchant every man I want. You have to compete to win me over. Some men would gladly join the Kingsguard to be near me, to protect me. I don’t need you if you are too dumb to comprehend my plan.”

Then it became nasty. A slap, his cheek stung, she yelled; he pleaded, she couldn’t relent. And so he left her behind.

Should he go back? Try to console her? Forgive her? Try to convince her again to come with him?

**********J&B**********

A gentle cough: “Son, can you help me? Ser?”

He hadn’t even realized that he was not alone anymore. The elderly man was clad in robes that had once been white, a seven stranded belt around his belly and a crystal on his chest. In his hands he was holding the reins of a small donkey.

Jaime said: “Well met, septon.”

His stallion hobbled nearer to the donkey, neighed lightly, the donkey brayed, and they nuzzled each other.

“I need help, ser. You are a knight, aren’t you?”

Jaime stood up, his knees cracked, he didn’t bow.

“Yes. What troubles you?”

“I have to cross the Blueburn. The water is high after yesterday’s downpour. My mount is too stubborn, you see, and her legs are too short.”

“Do you want an oat cookie to lure her over or a lift on my beast?”

“If it pleases you, ser, a lift. I have a dying man to console on the other side of the Blueburn. I have to take his last confessions. The Gods will be grateful for your service.”

“I don’t care about the Stranger, whereas our way is the same. I can help.”

Jaime bound the donkey’s reins to his saddle, freed his horse, hauled the septon up, and sat before him. Wiry arms snaked around his waist. The septon smelled of incense and onions, but Jaime guessed he was not smelling of roses, either. 

He clicked his tongue and the horse walked into the river, the donkey followed eagerly. 

He asked: “What made you trust me? I might be an outlaw and not a hedge knight.”

“I saw a distressed soul, and I trust the Gods that they watch my path and protect me.”

Jaime scoffed: “If there are Gods, septon, why is the world so full of pain and injustice?”

“Seven hells are stuffed with souls who asked this question, seven heavens are full of ones who never asked.”

“I don’t like crowds.”

The septon didn’t answer, the horse was sure on foot and walked on. 

Then the septon patted Jaime’s thigh.

“A grey cloak is no veil for the gold and the lions upon you.”

“So you trust Lannisters? You are a fool.”

“I trust that they don’t besmirch their swords to snatch a mere crystal.”

Jaime laughed: “Where are you from, where are you heading too, good septon?”

“My, are you a curious one? Aren’t you interested in a sermon about the Seven Pointed Star? Do you want to confess?”

“How well do you swim?”

“My sept is in Saltpans. I was at Baelor’s, at a council about the rule of exceptionalism. I decided to spend my time to go back as a wandering septon. Last year's plague left many orphans in its wake. There’s much to do and not enough help... at the moment though, I’m heading to an old friend, who is dying in the Castle of Fawnton. We have known each other since a day my name was longer than septon Bennet.”

“Fawnton, house Caffren, two white fawns on a green field.”

“Your maester must have been a patient man, ser.”

They crossed the deepest part of the river, his boots and the hem of his cloak were getting wet.

“You have no idea, septon Bennet. But no, I didn’t learn their coat of arms in the library, but in a much barer way, so to speak, and on hairy parchment. You long to talk about the holy ways? What is this doctrine of exemptionalism, then, you were discussing in Kingslanding?”

“In short it’s about marriage laws. Here in Westeros a man is not allowed to wed his sister, as it was declared by the Andals. The Targaryens, on the other hand, can ride dragons, they come from a land where it was custom to marry siblings, the Gods made them this way, it is not for men to judge. Targaryens are not like other men.”

Jaime tucked at the rains and made his stallion dance. The septon yelped and hold tight.

“There are no men like me.”

“I can see this, my son, and yet your soul is troubled like the soul of all the Mother’s children.”

“I can’t marry my sister, because I don’t have a dragon to ride? It’s that all it takes?”

“There is a much longer version. How many weeks can you spare? Do you want to marry your sister, then?”

”No. Of course not.”

Jaime was not as sure anymore whether this was the truth now or still a lie.

Bennet patted his leg again: “You are a fine knight. Have you ever thought about joining the Warrior‘s Sons? They are in dire need of strong arms, keen minds, and seeking souls.”

“Sooner I would join the Stars. And no, I have wed three days ago. No new oaths for me.”

“O, blessings for your marriage bed then! See, that’s the one you ought to love. May the Mother and Father grant you strong sons and beautiful daughters.”

He snorted: “Not very likely, perhaps the other way around. See, we have crossed the river.”

They dismounted, and Jaime had the sudden urge to do something, Cersei would scold him for and another would approve. He took the coin purse from his belt and shoved a handful of dragons in a pocket of the septon’s robe.

“Here... For the children, the orphans.”

The septon patted it gingerly and bent his head.

“Should I pray for you? Light some candles? “

“Pray for one who deserves it.”

“I will.”

“Here, our ways will part. How long will it take you to reach Fawnton?”

“It depends how willing my donkey is after I took her away from her sweetling. When the Gods are willing, I will reach my friend before he spent his last breath.”

The donkey was nibbling his horse’s mane, and they seemed to enjoy each other’s company.

“Why don’t you take the horse?”

The septon gaped at him. Jaime started to dispatch the saddlebags.

“How can I give it back? Do you want the donkey?”

He waved him off: “I buy a new horse. Don’t worry.”

“I’m lost for words, ser... How is this fine steed called, then?”

“I don’t name my horses.”

“And your name, ser?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“You have debts to pay?”

“I’m not a pious man, septon.”

“You act like one.”

Jaime smiled his dangerous smile and helped him up. The septon sat in the saddle like someone who didn’t train on donkeys.

Bennet nodded at him: "Godspeed, ser!” and sped up in a trot.

Jaime strapped the shield to his arm and shouldered the saddlebags, then he shouted: “Septon! Watch your buttocks!”

“Why, ser? The matter is subtle.” He waved his hand and was riding on.  
  


**********J&B**********

His men and his wife didn’t arrive at the inn for many hours. Jaime had bought rooms for them in advance. He was sitting in his room, went down for some ale and broth, couldn’t eat, went up again, and sat at the window. The calmness he had felt after his talk with the septon was long lost. He was sipping wine; it wasn’t Dornish. Long after sunset, his men arrived with boisterous laughs and bravado, all in red, also his wife.

It was stupid to lose a horse. Tomorrow he would have to buy a new one. He didn’t get up to join them downstairs, he could hear them singing and shouting. What about Brienne? Addam would look after her. A shy knock, it was Peck. He sent him away without an errand. He wanted to be alone, therefore he had bought a separate room for Brienne. It was better that way.

Nevertheless, she came to his room, her face red from the day in the sun, eyes shining brightly.

“How was your journey? Do you feel better?” she asked.

“I lost my horse.”

Her face became stern: “No honorable knight should ruin his horse. It was a fine steed.”

“So I heard. However, I never claimed to be an honorable knight. I craved the speed, a sharp ride downhill...”

She wrinkled her nose in haughty disgust: “How did you come here, if not on horseback?”

“Don’t ask.”

He sipped some wine. She took his pitcher away.

“You ought not to drink so much. It’s not good for you.”

“Don’t nag me!”

“Isn’t it my duty to care for my husband?”

“Shouldn’t you be glad, if I drink myself to death?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

She was talking back, and he liked it. There was so much innocence in her face, that he couldn’t take his eyes away. He wanted to steal this innocence from her and at the same time preserve it forever.

She must have seen something in his gaze, came over, poured water into his chalice, sat down, and petted awkwardly at his arm.

“Do you feel a bit better? When you don’t mind me saying it. But you look on the brink of tears.”

“You treat me like a mother who coddles a child.”

Her hand faltered. She pursed her lips. They were inviting and lush not like Cersei’s thin-lipped sneer. Suddenly something stirred. Why was he feeling lust? He wanted... he needed to shock her.

“We should fuck.”

Her open face closed at once, and she rose abruptly.

He sighed: “Don’t act like that. I would never force myself on a woman. It’s despicable. I had to stand watch as a husband forced himself upon his wife, every night... her screams... I could hear them through the doors...”

“As a knight, you swore an oath to protect all women. Why did you only listen, why didn’t you help?”

“There are oaths that contradict each other, wench. Which one shouldI follow? I never figured it out.”

“Oh.”

She nodded, something was settled.

“You should sleep, ser. It was a long day. We are tired.”

“Call me by my name!”

“Ser Jaime..”

“No.”

“I call you by your name, if you come to bed.”

He nodded.

“Jaime, go to sleep.”

He went up, cleaned his teeth with a rough cloth, and washed his face and his body. She repacked her stuff and didn’t look. He went to the bed, tugged the sheets to his chin, and waited with closed eyes.

She came to the bed and lay down, there was an uneasy silence, she asked: “Why did we leave Storm’s End in such a haste, ser..."

He opened his eyes, she was starring to the ceiling: “Call me Jaime. You really want to know?”

“Tell me the truth, Jaime!”

“I meant our marriage to be a ruse. Someone has been waiting for me at Storm’s End. I planned to flee to Essos, start a new life.”

“You would have left me alone? With the embarrassment and the shame? What about your father? What about the Rock?”

“I never cared about my legacy. Come on. You don’t like me. It would have been the best solution for you, too. You would have found a husband who suits you. Or had stayed lady Lannister.”

“As if your father would have allowed that. I would have been the laughingstock of the realm. Who is she? One of Cersei’s ladies?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“A knight then?”

“No, not a knight. I loved her since I can remember. Stayed true to her all my life.”

“And she didn’t?”

“She couldn’t... but she didn’t take up my offer. We didn’t elope. Now you are stuck with me... I’m almost sorry for you. Tell me, wench, what do you know about love?”

She turned her head: “Call me Brienne! Not much, love is nothing for the likes of me. I had three betrothed before you, one worse than the next.”

“And I’m the worst?”

“I don’t know, yet.”

“At least you are honest.”

“I always try to be.”

Cersei had lied to him. Although the light was dim, he could see the fluttering of a vein on her neck. He felt his blood rushing downwards.

“So, she broke your heart?” she asked.

“And spat on the shards.”

Shyly she reached out and stroked his hair. It felt pleasant.

“How can I soothe your pain?”

“Comfort me like a woman comforts a man, not as a mother does with her child.”

She sat up, jutted her chin out, and pushed her shoulders back.

“Show me then.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. What can I do to make you feel better?”

“I show you.”

He hitched the sheets down to his stomach, took her long, gracious hand and led it under the sheet.

She gasped, he waited, till she nodded again, so much tingling in his spine. He swallowed. Her hand was calloused, and he fought the urge to grab her, instead, he led her gently south. Then, finally... he was waiting, her eyes widened. Her hand was huge, it covered so much. It trembled in his, but she didn’t look afraid.

“Now you can begin if you want.”

She asked: “Is it to spite her?”

“I don’t know. It will feel different with you. You have the hand of a knight.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Grab my cock like you would do with the hilt of a sword.”

His mind went blank, his blood was rushing. He chased her eyes. She looked curious, a bit shy, not disgusted though, and not at all triumphant. Her pupils were blown.

“How is it?" he asked.

She made a noise, almost a giggle.

“I didn’t know it could get so swollen, so big.”

He smiled: “Thank you.”

“I tell the truth.”

“Don’t you want to begin?”

She was stroking him awkwardly, like he was a pet, but he let her explore till he couldn’t withstand it anymore. So he showed her, then retreated his hand. Her hand was moving, their connection became everything.

She was observing him like she had done at the fight, keen on picking up every hint. He started to count the freckles on her face to last longer, soon he lost count.

“Does it hurt?” She asked.

He shook his head and said: “You do well.”

She blushed, twisted her grip, and he moaned.

“Should I extinguish the candle?”

“I want to see your eyes.”

She smiled and tugged. She was good, a fast learner in physical matters.

Then she asked: “What can I do with my other hand?”

He considered showing her, instead, he took her hand in his own, intertwined their fingers, then squeezed. She gasped, then wetted her lips, she looked pleased. And he had the inane urge to kiss her. She readjusted her grip, went over the tip, played with the skin. There were no thoughts anymore, nor memories, only her presence, and pressure, and pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and the cudos! They reassure me that this story is more than a nuisance.  
> I looked at different maps, and I’ve done some speed calculations, but they aren’t accurate (that would take days). Sometimes there are errors because I prefer to take landmarks from asoiaf instead of inventing new ones (eg it would take longer to reach the Blueburn than a day, but it was the only named river nearby.)
> 
> The sad quote from Joanna about swords and tears is canon.
> 
> Some meta about my take on Jaime, feel free to skip: The majority of book readers seem to have despised him until he loses his sword hand. My appreciation started much earlier. And I guess this influences my writing.
> 
> Coincidentally I did a lot of reading about king slaying before picking up the books. In general, history doesn’t treat them kindly. History is written by the winners, and kingslayers are mostly on the losing side. If you look more closely, they often had a good reason to do it. So whenever I stumble over a kingslayer in fiction I tend to root for them. (I’m a pacifist, please don’t kill kings.)  
> I liked Jaime from the moment you learn how mad the Mad King was. I don’t like Edward Stark at all, his harsh judgment was enhancing my interest. It would affect everyone to be misjudged by the whole realm, that explains many of his quirks. The Lannisters are first painted unfavorably, later you meet nicer family members (Gerion, Genna, Kevan) and in the past, there were formidable Lannisters.  
> Jaime’s love for his sister is problematic. But in asoiaf incest is allowed for the Targaryens, so we can’t judge them with our moral standards. To be forced to witness every day, how Robert Baratheon treats his love, must have affected him, too.
> 
> The Bran-defenestration is horrible, but what were his options? He had to save his children’s and Cersei’s lives and his own.
> 
> My main problem with Jaime was Cersei’s nasty personality and that the relationship is more than unhealthy.  
> Imagine my delight when a character who was just my jam (Brienne) got accused of king slaying too and was paired up with a character I was guiltily rooting for...
> 
> Next: Brienne enjoys the delights of traveling, then a sword fight.


	6. Kite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gets accustomed to life on road, some feelings, finally another fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m surprised that I get kudos and comments, and it makes me happy. It’s especially interesting to read what other people think. I’m sorry that style, wording and grammar are not up to par with this fandom's standards. (The J/B stories are truly exceptional.)  
> I have fun, so I don’t plan to stop, yet.

In many ways, the following days were the most exciting of Brienne’s life. Parts of the excitement were good, parts were decidedly bad.

The Lannister men were raising at dawn. Ser Steffon Swyft, an avid early riser, woke them every morning, with his house’s words: “Awake! Awake!” The second morning she started to get annoyed, after a week she thought it quite useful. At least the words of house Swyft didn’t make her blush. Whenever one of the knights shouted “Hear me roar!”, her mind instantly went to this night as... She heard it. It was not a mere figure of speech, he did roar.

The group was often riding well into the dusk, thus making good space. She enjoyed the feeling of covering distance. On the road with a goal, she realized how trapped she had felt on her island. An island you could cross from North to South in two and a half days, from West to East in far less. She knew everything on Tarth, the mountains and quarries, the waterfalls and the ports. Every face looked familiar, you could guess what they would ask next and you knew what you had to answer. Here the small folk were wearing different clothes, were eating different food, had an accent she was not familiar with.

She was also discovering new things about Jaime. He was a good leader and trust every knight to do his assigned duty. He was touching every surface he was walking by. He couldn’t abide to be laughed at. His hand gripped his pommel if someone dared to. His lips twitched when he found something amusing.

Everything on the road was enhanced and shiny. Behind every corner, there could be something new. The places they passed, the inns, the league stones, were not made to linger, but to spur on. She learned to translate the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves. It said: ride on, ride on. Sometimes at night, at a table in a smoky inn, ser Lewys Lydden lent her his map. She measured the distance they covered with the joints of her fingers, then with her hand, then they rode over the edge of the map into a new one. Lydden was the grumpiest of them all and she liked him well. In general, the Westermen were much more boisterous than the men at Tarth. To confer with Lydden gave her some solace from all the swaggering and preening men she was suddenly surrounded with.

Once they passed an oxcart that was on the way to a castle. She penned quickly two notes, one to Tarth and one to Storm’s End. She wrote that she was on the kingsroad and well. She was not sure whether the thin-lipped farmer would send the letters per raven as he promised or whether he would pocket the dragon for himself and throw the notes into the dust as soon as he was out of sight. She didn’t care. She felt free.

Even some unpleasant things were interesting because they were new. The squire Merlon showed her how to hang her cloak into the smoke to get rid of bed bugs without getting it stained. It also took away the stink of the road. Ser Quenten Banefort gave her a jar with suet as a balm for the rash the hours in the saddle left on her legs. Her skin became smooth. Ser Addam instructed her how to wash her hair with lemon and apple vinegar to kill the lice. Her hair got even lighter in tone, it was less limp and was shining.

There were no responsibilities besides to ride on. The duty to keep going overruled everything else.

One sunny afternoon, her horse was spooked by a high pitched yearning screech. A bird of prey was gliding through the sky. It had wide wings and a forked tail. She didn’t know these birds from Tarth and asked ser Anatorio Jast.

“It’s a kite, my lady. See, there are its mates, and there the crows and the magpies. They are after carrion or a corpse.”

“Shouldn’t we go there and have a look? Perhaps we can help? Burry a body?”

“It’s not our business. The local lord wouldn’t like if Westermen meddled with his affairs.” He yelled:“Westerling! Whose lands are we crossing?”

“The Hoggs!” Ser Raynald answered.

“See,” ser Anatorio said, “don’t provoke the boars till they are fat.”

Clip-clop, clip-clop; ride on, Brienne, ride on.

The knights treated her alright, some briskly, some ignored her, some were even gallant, but all of them were respectful. Her new name protected her. A slight on her was a slight on Jaime. She didn’t care too much whether the respect towards her was genuine, in any case, she got a reprieve from the harsh tongues at home, especially Roelle’s. 

Ser Benedict Broom, a former master-at-arms at Casterly Rock, made them ride formations or do drills, twice a day, no real fights because they didn’t carry tourney swords with them. She was always asked to join. She had never learned as much in such a short time. Sometimes she was even participating in the squires’ training. They had whittled wooden sticks into proxy swords. That was always her favorites part of the day. There was no sparing between the knights, so she didn’t get paired with Jaime. Instead, she tried to memorize his movements from the sideline. She got to know his favorite stances, his reliance on footwork, and quick shifts in parries. Brienne was preparing for their unavoidable fight.

She mostly didn’t join the men’s conversations on horse or when they were resting. But it was fine to blend silently in. She learned about their campaigns in the Westerlands. The ambush on the Sapphire Waters was already a story as if it happened ages ago. It ended as the villain got stabbed by the fierce lady Lannister. Was that even her? She was attentively listening to stories about their travel to Volantis, she was engulfed in novel songs, and picked up legends she never had heard. They told her all five variations of how Lann the Clever won the Rock. With every cup of ale, they drank, Lann got sneakier and his methods more indecent. Lann had never used rotten pigs.

  
**********J&B**********

  
And then there was bad excitement. There was Jaime. After he had asked her to touch him, she felt elevated and restless, he fell quickly asleep. In the morning there was an uncomfortable tension between them she couldn’t pinpoint and he retreated. Was he avoiding her? Or giving her space?

She couldn’t look him in the eyes the second day on the road. Shame crept into her cheeks. At night she had thought that she had made him feel better. She felt good doing it, good and caring. Almost as if she had discovered a new power. But then in the days after, he got more and more subdued. She wondered whether she had hurt him involuntarily. He had looked pained and had moaned. Was her grip too strong? It was messy and sticky afterward, but it wasn’t blood on her hand. Was that normal? There was no one she could ask. He had thanked her, but was it heartfelt? Had she done something wrong? He didn’t ask her again to do it, and she was reluctant to offer. 

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

His heartache must still be fierce. A broken heart needs time to heal, sometimes it never will. She knew as much from the songs. She learned that Tywin Lannister never found another woman after his first love had died. Her father instead sought distraction in a string of interchangeable mistresses. Had this been the reason Jaime asked her to comfort him? A quick distraction and nothing more?

Jaime hadn’t given her back the Tarth cloak. And she didn’t dare to ask. It showed that he didn’t care for her feelings.

She, in turn, felt sorry for him, truly. Nevertheless, uncomfortable feelings plagued her, whenever her thoughts wandered to this mysterious woman in Storm’s End. She must be very beautiful to affect him so. Was Brienne jealous? In the end, he didn’t found what he looked for, neither had she. It made them more similar, and she balked at this revelation. They were not similar at all! Jaime was despicable, Brienne was not!

What had happened to him, years ago in Kingslanding? He had hinted at secrets but would never tell. Was it her duty to ask him? She didn’t want to know. He was not an honorable man. He would answer with lies, anyway. It was safer that way. A well-delivered lie would lure her in. She knew she had to guard her heart at all costs. She had once opened it to Renly. Galladon had told her, how stupid that had been. Her heart was safe this time. 

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

She got used to Jaime’s beauty. It wasn’t as intimidating and overwhelming as it had been. She sent him sideway glances, the shining hair, his posture in the saddle, the mossy green eyes. She averted hers quickly, whenever their eyes met.

Jaime didn’t shave on the road. There were smudges under his eyes. His cheekbones became sharper. He didn’t sing with his men, snapped at them when they asked whether he wanted a second cup of ale. He never lashed out at her, though and she almost missed it. 

During rest, he was spending most of his time with his new horse, a young grey, not fully broken. He trained it with a lunge line and lured the beast into jumping over logs. It promised to become a good jumper. He was a patient teacher, carrots, and oatcakes always on the ready. She wondered how a man who had ridden his last horse to death, could treat his new one with so much kindness. 

It was obvious that he didn’t sleep well. He often tossed. An arm bumped her side, a foot kicked her shine. It wasn’t easy to find sleep in a shared bed. She was always sleeping in her shift, he slept naked. Her thin garment didn’t prevent his body heat to burn through. The daily riding tired her out, nevertheless, she was listening to his uneven breaths and was waiting, till he would ask her to console him as a wife does with her man. Her anticipation grew, her body felt taut and yearning.

Once or twice she suffered from bad dreams. He reached after her, half asleep, she felt warm in his arms and protected. His hair tickled her cheeks, and she shuddered. He pulled her closer. Her heart was fluttering like a nestling’s just before its very first flight.

**********J&B**********

One evening, in a well-kept inn, an unexpected rush of homesickness befell her. It was noisy and crowded. She longed to be alone. Jaime was sitting beside her. His thigh was pressing into hers, his arm brushed hers when he reached for his cup. It was unnerving, she tried to shy away, bumped into Peck’s gangly body. 

The serving wench was buxom and had dimples. The men were flattering her, tried to grope her when she replenished ale or brought more bread. The girl slapped at their wrists and giggled as if she liked the attention, her lashes fluttered, her hips swayed, when she turned. Jaime was not joining the courting, but Brienne felt miserable that she would never be able to act like this girl.

Normally Brienne relished all the new tastes. She didn’t know this dish. Beef was rare at Evenfall Hall, and it tasted overwhelming and strong. This night she was not hungry. Her throat felt too dry. It was hard to swallow the beef stew. She ate only carrots and chard.

“More ale, sers?” The serving wench rested her forearms on the table, her blouse strained, the men ogled her bosom, she sashayed away to fetch more ale.

Believing Brienne distracted, Peck stole a cube of beef out of her bowl, and she didn’t reprimand him. He needed the food to grow and to fill out.

She said: “I miss fish.”

She hadn’t realized that she had said it aloud.

“Wait till we are deeper in the Riverlands,” said ser Swyft, “there you can have trout and pike every day.”

The elder Westerling scoffed: “She talks about sea fish, sod off with this freshwater stuff. Our lady is made for the good fare. She talks like a Lannister should.”

Jaime said calmly: “She talks like everyone would, who grow up to the tunes of the sea. I used to miss sea fish, too, as I was young.”

Broom, the master at arms, raised his voice: “Do you have sudden strange urges for specific food, my lady? At the Rock, you can eat sea fish as much as you like. Kraken, swordfish, sunfish...”

Jaime said: “I plan to live in Fair castle.”

Brienne asked: “Do you hunt tuna? At Tarth they become huge.”

She spread her arms to show them, Jaime glanced oddly at her shirt, she checked for smudges, the linen was clean, she folded her arms at once.

“A toast to the tall breeds of Tarth!” said ser Falwell and they clinked their mugs. It didn’t felt too unfriendly. But her husband’s hand flew to his sword. 

She used the commotion to stab her dagger into a carrot in Peck’s bowl. He laughed, she chewed it and exchanged her full bowl with his, he had only eaten the meat and let all the vegetables be. Addam winked at her from the other side of the table and she smiled.

Ser Benedict Broom stroke his beard, cleared his throat and said: “Jaime, can we finally discuss our tactics at the wedding’s tourney? Do we know, who competes? We fight in a group, I reckon. We should train it henceforth. Do you plan to attend in the lists? If so, we need to buy a trained destrier and a good lance as soon as possible. So we are able to brush up your skills.”

Jaime shrugged.

Was there a wedding? He had only talked about a tourney.

Peck scratched the meager fluff at his chin and asked her: “My lady, will you join us in the melee?”

Broom said quickly: “I don’t think that’s wise in her condition.”

Brienne asked: “What condition? I trained for the melee, but never attended one, but I always wished to. A shame that I left my morningstar at Storm’s End.”

“You trained with a morningstar?” asked ser Jast and raised his eyebrows, “I thought you were born for the sword.”

Addam said: “I bet she is literally stunning with the morningstar.” They laughed and clinked mugs, but it didn’t seem too unfriendly. Jaime scoffed, but he had a soft spot for his childhood friend Addam.

Westerling said: „The Evenstar’s daughter wields a morningstar? We have the first line of a song!“

Again they toasted, this laughter was not unfriendly at all.

She sent an askance look towards Jaime. His shoulders were tense, his right hand on the table was balled into a tight fist. His right arm was unblemished, on his left, there was still a silvery trace of their wedding night. Her gaze was lingering on his arm, the rolled-up sleeve, his golden skin, the bulging veins, the strong wrist, the hardened knuckles. A warrior’s hand, a beautiful hand, she considered reaching over, to touch him, to make it better.

He suddenly looked at her and said: “The morningstar is a waste of your talent. No thrusts, no kissing blades, only bites, brute force, the same dull movement... and the morningstar is made only for loners. You risk to hurt others, when you use it in a team. You are meant for the sword. But what do I care, buy a new morningstar! Money is not an issue for Lannisters. Lydden, give her a purse.”

Ser Lewys came over, looked over their shoulders, was lingering far too long, and dropped a purse in her lap, it was heavy with dragons.

She was confused, what was Jaime talking about? Not only about weapons for sure. Was he talking about that night? Had she been so clumsy? She fingered the coins through the leather and decided to give the serving wench a very good tip with her new fortune.

Jaime turned to Broom: “And no, I will not joust, I don’t have my lance with me.”

Addam snickered:” Jaime left his golden lance at Storm’s End.”

Jaime sent him a very cold glare.

Lydden said gruffly: “You don’t need gold to win. Wood is enough.” And slapped Jaime’s back, a tight too hard.

  
**********J&B**********

The next day they left the kingsroad to ride along the God’s Eye. In an inn, the tidings had reached them, that the wedding and tourney were postponed by a moon because the Tullys had to settle some minor lords' quarrel. Suddenly there was too much time, and they begun to linger at places.

The lake was glittering in marvelous hues of blue and green. The wind was singing in the reeds. Falwell and Banefort caught some ducks for lunch. While they were roasting them over a campfire, Brienne wandered off to take a well-deserved swim. She had missed swimming. She shed all outer-clothes and stepped into the water, only clad in her smallclothes and her breast band. The water was supple and not too cold. She felt clean and loose, was enjoying the quiet. Only an occasional shout from the camp disturbed the warblers’ chattering songs and the splash of her arms and legs. With sure strokes, she took off in the direction of the mysterious Island of the Faces. She had heard on the island was a forest of weirwood. She had only seen a single weirwood tree in her life, and wondered how a grove of them would look like. None of the Lannisters men had ever been there, they talked about it in hushed voices and it made her curious to discover it. How would it feel to walk in a whole forest of them? Would the trees watch her? Would she feel seen? Would they cry sap? Would her Gods disapprove if she prayed there? At the end of the lake loomed the gigantic castle of Harrenhal. The ruined towers looked like the crooked fingers of a man in pain. Brienne was not used to water without waves. Its calmness was eery. Nearby two black swans crossed her way, they were arching their long necks gracefully, opened their crimson beaks and called out, a sound that made her shudder. More swans arrived, they didn’t look mere somber anymore but threatening. She turned quickly and headed back.

Jamie was sitting at the lakeside. He was perching on a rock and playing with some stems of reed. He looked like Morne’s perfect knight must have looked like when the Maiden fell in love with him. She liked his facial hair and berated herself to be so shallow. There was no word in the song about Galladon of Morne’s beauty. A knight didn’t have to be handsome. Brienne considered to hide behind the rushes, but Jaime had already seen her.

“You shouldn’t swim alone.”

She couldn’t stay in the water forever. She tried not to care what he thought about her body. She steeled herself for a coming jape and rose from the water.

His gaze traveled over her form. She felt a fierce blush rising from her chest to her cheeks.

“You shouldn’t wander off. And never leave your sword behind.”

“I needed to clean up.”

“Everyone is dirty on the road.”

He averted his eyes. She got her clothes quickly and dressed still wet and dripping.

She said: “There are black swans in the lake.”

“See! It’s a cursed place. The creepy island, and Harrenhal is full of ghosts, this place brings bad luck. You can swim at home... it’s more of a challenge to swim in the sea. I used to jump from the cliffs.”

“Me too, at Tarth.”

A quick smile flitted over his face.

“At the Rock, they are higher as in Tarth. But, I’m serious, you should never swim here on your own.”

“So you said.”

“Come!” He stood up awkwardly and offered her his hand. She didn’t take it. “The ducks are ready. You must be hungry after the swim.”

They feasted on succulent flesh. Afterward, she was lying under a tree, drowsily and outstretched on her cloak, and was leisurely watching the sun dapple the moss. The squires and some men were gone to the lake, their cheerful shrieks and shouts wafted over. Her underwear dried on her skin. It was not cold. She felt almost happy. She held a shimmering duck feather into the light that Ser Addam had given to her. She was observing how the green color became blue as she shifted it and switched back to green. You could never tell the exact moment it happened. It was a pretty feather, too pretty for her.

She must have fallen asleep. The squires woke her up and dragged her to a mock fight with wooden swords. It was great fun, till Jaime came.

His hair was still wet. He was observing her training with Rollam, then he stepped in.

“Let us spare.”

Brienne said: “Peck give him your sword.”

“No, my lady, I don’t spar with wood, only live steel. Fetch your sword!”

She gaped at him: “You can’t be serious. It’s not blunted. We could kill each other.”

His lips twitched.

“So be it. I want to know who is the better fighter.”

“You still are.”

“It was no honest fight. I tricked you. I thought you care about honor. If you win, you are free of me.”

“How dare you to provoke me! I can’t kill my own husband.”

“Two swords, no shields, no mail. The one who wins gets his freedom. Are you such a craven that you refuse?”

“You know, I’m no coward. But this is madness. What if we get maimed?”

“I, for one, prefer a mercy kill.” He brushed his hair back, strutted to her tree, fetched her sword. She took it from his arms, his own went out of its sheath with a screeching sound that told her “Do it, you have nothing to lose and everything to win.”

She unsheathed her sword.

He bowed.

He moved into an offensive ox stance and said: “My mother used to tell us that tears are a woman’s weapon, and the man’s weapon is a sword. You can cry after. Let me have this last dance.” 

She attacked, he counter stroke, she sprung back. He smirked. Her blood sang, the colors were sharp. She did a quick assessment of her surroundings. Over there, a root and some rocks, on her left a tree, on her right the campfire. It wouldn’t betray her. Jaime pivoted around her. She went into the high window guard. He attacked her midsection. She feinted, he bluffed. She slashed at his sword hand. He blocked. She felt the draught of his sword point swish by a hair’s breadth over her skin. She touched her cheek, no blood. He lowered his sword into the fool's guard. She lowered hers into a plow and refused to take him on. She waited warily till he lifted his sword.

Some people around them were shouting, she didn’t care.

She was watching his eyes. His pupils were huge. Finally there, something fluttered. She had learned to read him well enough it seemed. Before he had finished his thought, she barraged into his close defense, could hear his heavy breaths, smelt the lake on his skin. She pressed her breast into his chest and forced his sword down with her blade. She had all the advantages. She knew what he would do next. He would try to trick her. His left arm snaked around her and he pulled. She stepped even closer. Was that his heartbeat? She pressed on his arm with all her force. He slipped his legs between hers. She wouldn’t let him trip her. She smashed her left fist on his wrist and shoved him. The swords fell with a clutter. He fell with a grunt. They grappled, she heaved her body on his with a satisfying thud. He bucked. She wondered... she reached back, a wary stroke there, he was hard. She took her hand away and drew her dagger, pointed the blade to his jugular, someone cheered. He struggled, she held him tightly with her legs. Shouts and applause in the background, she pressed the blade deeper, a drop of crimson blood, it mirrored the rubies in the hilt.

“Do you yield?”

He had freed one hand and pulled her head down. No, no, victory was hers. How could he! Their noses bumped together, he opened his lips, his beard tickled, their lips met. Was... Was that a kiss?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Brienne, I think your observation is astute! It was a kiss.
> 
> Some years ago I thought it unrealistic that a woman can be as good with swords as Brienne. It’s actually not. Swords are not very heavy, success relies on speed and the ability to foretell your opponents' next moves. In a bought, height and power are very often the crucial factors to win, but an untrained giant loses against someone with training and skill. Thus, Brienne’s prowess is not pure fantasy. 
> 
> You need constant exercise to stay good. I imagine the master-at-arms as a kind of trainer.
> 
> Jaime’s and Tywin’s fear of being laughed at is canon. (check his second dream about his mother.) An interesting parallel to Brienne.
> 
> Next: Some awkward conversations, then an adventure.


	7. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pep talk, a groupie, a leap - but in which direction?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the first part of this chapter, there’s some bro talk. I’ve written it as I imagine Westerosi men would talk. It obviously doesn’t reflect my opinion about men, women, and sexuality.
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos and the comments! They are really helpful because they let me rethink my story and flesh out certain aspects! Thank you!
> 
> I set the chapter count at 15. There’s one (not very important) Chekhov’s gun I will not be able to fire within these chapters, but if I’m up to there’s always the possibility of a sequel.

“Mate, get your shit together.”

Jaime harrumphed. He and Addam were strolling through a small farmers’ market in the borough of castle Darry. It smelled of freshly baked bread, manure, and roasted meat. Jaime allowed his men a day of leisure. They had covered good distance, and with the postponed tourney time to kill.

Before their feet, a flock of pigeons rushed into the air. They flew a half-circle over the market and settled on the castle’s wall.

Over there at a flower stall, stood Brienne. It was easy to spot her in a crowd, her towheaded figure towered over the smallfolk. She touched carefully some carnations and lowered her nose. His gaze was lingering on her backside. Then she walked to a cloth merchant. She examined some blue linen. The color would go fine with her eyes. She put it back and went over to a leather maker and inspected some water skins, weighted them, groped the leather, put them down. She was handling them well. Next, she walked to a stall with jars and pots of honey and preserved fruit. She was acting as if she was poor. When would this daft woman learn, that she could purchase easily the goods of all four stalls and more, with the money in the purse alone? It was almost adorable how modest she was. It wouldn’t do for a Lannisters to come off as stingy, he had to teach her how to spend.

“Did you listen to me?” Addam said with a pointed look.

“That I should get my shit together.”

“Crone give me patience! No, after that.”

“Let’s go to the corn merchant. We need oats.”

“Lydden takes care of the oats. Let’s have some fun.”

Two girls with huge baskets filled with leeks and eggs and the like walked by and giggled as they passed them.

Addam turned around and watched them go.

“You don’t even look. The left one has freckles.”

Jaime turned, and Addam punched him in the shoulder.

They bought some honeyed ham and freshly baked rolls, and took seat on the steps of a merrily running fountain in the center of the square.

Addam chewed, gulped, and said:

“We know each other since before our mother’s weaned us off, but I can only remember one time, I’ve seen you so confused and crazy. If you don’t stop it at once, you lose the respect of your men, and you scare your wife off for life.”

Jaime swallowed: “You have a better memory than I have, then. And what do you know about women? You are still a bachelor.”

“I know at least that when I will find the right woman, I will treat her accordingly. I’m leagues ahead of you.” He chuckled. “I will never try to kill my wife if I want something else from her.”

Jaime’s hand went to the scratch at his throat. Cersei’s words about Brienne shrilled in his ears “Or an accident while she plays with her sword?”

He shook his head and said: “Theories are easier than reality.”

“Hold your sword in check, in the future!”

“I didn’t want to kill her. I wanted a fairer fight than at Tarth. I distracted her then.”

Addam chuckled: “Man, you completely lost it.”

“This time she distracted me, but not on purpose. I wouldn’t have killed her, and she left me alive. That’s significant. That must mean something, or not? She asked me to yield, instead of finishing me off, how she was allowed to. We still don’t know who is better, though...”

“Who is better? Come on, who cares? You are a married couple and no rivals. Just promise, no more fights with live steel in the future!”

He shrugged and Addam rolled his eyes.

They were eating and watching the market. Some geese were gaggling in their cages. Whenever an idle red cloak was visible among the dwellers, Jaime squinted, his knights behaved well. A baker who was carrying a tray, piled with cake, ran into a peddler, men and ware fell in a heap, they shouted at each other, meanwhile, some urchins ran off with the cakes.

“What happened in Storm’s End?”

Jaime swallowed the wrong way and coughed. Addam slapped him on the back.

After he had caught his breath, he said: “You don’t want to know.”

Some pigeons hopped towards them, they were picking at crumbs.

“I never liked your sister. She was always mean with Tyrion.”

Jaime spluttered: “Leave my family alone.”

“You are no Targaryens.”

“What? What are you hinting at? Watch your next words closely...”

“Come on, I have eyes. Your other bannermen don’t know. Your secret is safe with me. It took me a while to figure it out. For a little time, I thought you were after men. Kingsguard and all. But no, it was sweet Cersei, all along.”

Jaime felt his jaws clench, he hissed: “No we are no Targaryens. We don’t operate with fire and blood. What do you know about the doctrine of exceptionalism?”

“Do you want to become a septon?"

“Shut up!”

“Whatever. I’m not interested in the past now. We have a pressing situation at hand and need to deal with it. What’s going on with Brienne?”

“How should I know... She is something special. Her honor, her skill, in another world, she would be a knight. I would send her on a quest, and they would sing songs about her. Or she would join the kingsguard. But no, that would not make her happy. Not much honor to gain in the White Tower. Since Dayne was killed... she reminds me of him, by the way. There were better knights, once. Ser Duncan...”

“Fucked your grandmother, the notorious Red Widow!”

He had the sudden urge to pull at Addams red strands and punch him as they had done as small boys.

Jaime cried: “Rumors and lies! But let’s not digress. You and Brienne seem awfully close.”

“I knew that you remarked it! You are so predictable, Lannister.”

“I’m not jealous! And don’t play with her. She will despise that.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not playing with her. She is not a knight. She is your wife. I treat her as a gallant bannerman should. You, on the other hand, are playing with her. One moment you treat her like a knight you are friends with, the next you snap at her, then you try to kill her, and then you kiss.”

At the feet of the steps, a cock pigeon was preening in front of a female one, she turned, he cooed, she flew, he chased after her.

Jaime said: “I... I really don’t know. Perhaps it was the place. The God’s Eye and Harrenhal make me always act foolish.”

Addam chuckled: “Ah, so it’s neither you nor her, but the place?”

“And as I said, I didn’t want to kill her, but to fight her for real.“

“But you care for her? A tiny bit at least?”

“No, not exactly. She fights well. I like her window guard.”

“Bullshit. Her window guard!” Addam threw up his hands, “there’s more to like about her if you get to know her. You should try!”

Jaime grunted and threw the remaining part of the roll into the dust. There were no pigeons around to pick at it.

Jaime was scowling, Addam whistled a tune. Some market customers were haggling over fish. A wine and an ale merchant started a brawl. A group of children played monsters and maidens around the fountain. Addam tossed the winners some coppers.

He said wistfully: “Brienne doesn’t deserve how you treat her, Jaime. I like her. She is my best friend’s wife, and I think there’s something between you. But yesterday, man!”

He shook his head.

“I know.”

“Did you at least...?” Addam made a rude gesture.

“No.”

“No bedding? She is still a virgin? Did you ask her, at least?”

“I did!”

“How exactly?”

“Not nicely.”

“Then, ask nicely next time! She might even be flattered. Use your looks! Women are ogling you constantly. Fuck her already and you will calm down, and then you can win the tourney and give her the damn flower crown as a prize. I know her face is not as fair, as you like. But the legs and the eyes...and she is awfully shy, but quite competent in whatever she does. And she has an odd sense of humor. She will be a good lady for the Rock.”

“I would never force the wench!”

“I’m not talking about rape but seduction, you dumbass. And wench? What a way to call her! Call her sweetling! Actually, I think you fancy her. You like to pull her pigtails.”

“Do not mock me! I admit there is something, I can’t explain. There has never been another, only... I don’t know what happened yesterday. My blood was up, I don’t like that she has this effect on me. I want to fight this urge.”

Addam made an annoyed sigh: “When have you last time lain with a woman? Half a year? One year? Two? Maiden’s cunt! No wonder you are acting the way you do. Ser Quenten and ser Stanford will visit a brothel in town. You should go with them. It will clear your head.”

“That’s more my brother’s style.”

“Look, you and lady Brienne make a good couple. It’s not obvious, but you pair off well. You have almost the same height.” He laughed annoyingly. "You seem quite fascinated by her, to be honest. Or was this kiss yesterday a new fighting move, ser Benedict showed you in the hay?”

Addam laughed at his joke again.

“It’s complicated.”

“I get it. You are totally confused. But what about her? She will leave you. She is so skilled, she could easily survive as a hedge knight. You are one of the best and she bested you. What a fight!”

“I was not at my best, but yes, she won. Broom will make me do drills till my arm falls off. Actually, she is allowed to leave me now, according to her own terms.”

“I wouldn’t blame her if she ran off. Does she really want to flee, though? You could be a fine husband. Someone has to set your head straight, and that’s exactly what good friends are here for. Be a man, Jaime. Let your cock speak. All these spent up energy, her power... and she seems to be the caring kind. Look how nice she treats the squires! I bet she is good in the sack.”

“She hates me.”

“No wonder, the way you treat her!”

“It has nothing to do, with how I treat her.”

“Don’t be stupid. It always has something to do with how we treat them. You never wooed a girl, not necessarily with your good looks, and you had apparently only eyes for one. Do something! Buy her some roses! Over there, they offer some for sale!”

“No, it’s no about roses. It’s about my past...”

“She hates you because you killed the crazy king?”

“All of them do.”

“I don’t, because I know you. I don’t care what happened then. You will always be my friend. But really, at least talk with her and be nice. And get your shit together. Something like yesterday will never happen again. You could kill each other. The next time you start to fight her, I knock you down. I promise. I hope you didn’t tell her about Cers?”

“I didn’t specify...”

“But you told her something?”

He nodded.

“So she assumes your sweetheart waits at Storm’s End? How should that make her feel?”

“She likes honesty.”

“She says she likes honesty. They always say it and never do.”

“Cersei dismissed my honest offer.”

“So you are rid of her? Splendid! Cers lured you into the kingsguard, how often have you been with her since? Fate presents you a much better opinion on a silver platter.”

“Not fate, my father!”

“Whatever. Grab it as long as it is on display. Look there, she comes!”

Addam waived and raised his voice: “Lady Brienne, we are here!”

Jaime hissed: “Perhaps she wants to be alone.”

“Don’t fret, I will charm her. Watch and learn!”  
  


**********J&B**********  
  
  


Brienne walked reluctantly into their direction. Suddenly Jaime felt jittery with relief that he had left her unharmed in yesterday’s fight.

“Wife!”

She stopped and was towering over them, he had to look up to meet her eyes. The sun was blinding him, and he couldn’t discern her expression, she nodded curtly. 

Addam stood up and bowed: “Lady Brienne! How did you like this farmers’ market? Do you have markets at Tarth? This here is nothing, in the Riverlands everything is a bit ordinary and simple. Wait till you visit your first market in Lannisport. You can buy goods from all over the world. There are mummers and singers, and at night fire-eaters and dances. Has Jaime told you about them?”

Addam looked at him smugly. 

It was probably a failure in etiquette that Jaime didn’t stand up also, but now it was too late. Do husbands stand up for their wives? He didn’t remember what his father had done. 

“Yes,” she said, “we have markets on Tarth and sometimes fairs. There are stalls with ware from Essos, but no fire-eaters. We can’t compete with Lannisport. And don’t want to do.”

“But you breed better fighters on Tarth! All the honey wine and dances are making us soft. It’s a good thing that you bring some fresh blood into the Westerlands! Do you have some unwed cousins? I plan to marry soon.”

She scoffed, and Jaime was triumphant that Addam couldn’t charm her as easily as he had predicted.

“I bought some cherries,” she said. “Do you like to try some, ser Addam?”

His triumph deflated. She sat beside Addam on the stairs and opened her pot. She didn’t offer cherries to him. He was sure that a good wife would have felt obliged to feed him. Ser Addam fished in the pot with his dagger, offered them to her. Her lips soon looked like they were painted, it should look childish, but it did not.

Her lips were so soft. Brienne had gasped after their lips had met and he had let the tip of his tongue slip into her mouth. Then she had went totally still, she had lowered her body to his. So her testing touch at his cock had been an invitation after all and not a show of dominance. He had stroked the cheek, that his blade had almost left blemished. Their tongues met, she pressed her hips down, he felt sparks and tried to free his other hand. She sprung up. 

His cock was aching, as it had done yesterday. Addam and Brienne were chattering about the market and the weather. Why didn’t Jaime come up with the sun? Addam made it look very easy. He felt tongue tided. And he hated it, he was not used to be lost for words.

After the fight and the kiss, she avoided him. On the road ser Benedict took him aside. There may had been shouts. The master-at-arms was the only man, besides his father, who was allowed to tell him off. He was not wrong to do so. You do not fight with live steel if you don’t intend to kill. In Broom’s stead, Jaime had screamed much louder.

They didn’t make it to an inn last night and had to camp in the field. The wench had avoided him. She placed her bedroll, besides his, but there was more than an arm’s distance between them. She was sleeping face away. He was staring at her taut back under the blankets. She had put his old dagger beside her sleep roll. He couldn’t sleep and counted stars as if they were freckles. It was chilly, she shivered. He didn’t dare to pull her closer, afraid of what it would mean, and what she would do. Instead, he tucked her in her old cloak, sturdy warm Tarth wool. She didn’t give it back in the morning.

“So,” said Addam, “I have commissions to do. And you should always give newlyweds some time to be alone.” He winked at him and swaggered off to a baker’s stall.

“Will you offer me some cherries, too?” Jaime asked after the silence felt too long to bear anymore.

With a grunt, she shoved the pot in his lap. She was scowling and it made her ugly. How often had her nose been broken? He offered her a cherry on the tip of his dagger. She snatched it away and put it into her mouth.

“Should I apologize?” He asked.

She swallowed: “Is this a real question?”

“So I should? I like the cherry color on your lips. It’s almost crimson.”

She quickly licked them with her tongue, he felt himself harden and tried to urge it down.

She said: “Why do you mock me?”

“I mock everyone I care for, ask Tyrion!”

“I meant yesterday. I thought you were going to kill me. And then I win and you did that!”

“I did what?”

“You know what I’m talking about!”

“Ah! You are talking about the kiss! Did you like it?”

She blushed, wrung her hands, and didn’t look at him: “It was a taunt.”

“It was not! Look, when a man is very closely pressed to a woman, like in a fight or somewhere else, he has some reactions.”

“So, suddenly I’m a woman to you?”

“What else should you be?”

“I know how I look. There aren’t many mirrors on the road, but I remember what they taught me. On our wedding night, you promised that we can live like brothers in arms.”

“I was drunk!”

“I believed you!”

“Never believe the promises of an oath breaker. And my situation has dramatically changed.”

She looked at him. Her eyes were huge and very blue. 

“What do you want of me?”

“Honestly, I can’t say! What do you want of me?”

“We swore an oath to be one flesh and to love each other.”

“From all the oaths that must be the most broken one in the realm.”

“My father loved my mother.”

“My father loved only my mother. Today he only loves power.” He cradled his face in his hands: “My mother would have liked you. I am sorry, that I started that fight yesterday. I would never have killed you. It felt right at that moment. But aren’t you free now to go? You bested me.”

“You won the first fight. I promised to accept the consequences. In a trial of combat, there aren’t second chances, either. ”

She touched his arm and he looked up.

She asked: “I have to admit, I like some aspects of being married to you. But... Are you sorry for the kiss, too?”

“I can’t be. I’m sorry, I didn’t ask.”

“And now?”

“Should we try it again? I would like to.”

She gasped: “To kiss? We are not fighting now. You don’t have to pretend to make me feel better. My septa told me, men will always lie to me.”

“Why should I lie to you that I wish to kiss you again and this time properly and not at dagger point?”

She shrugged and looked at him beseechingly, then scowled.

There was time. He didn’t want to overwhelm her and it started to overwhelm him, too. He stood up: “Let’s start again. Why not with a new fight? Properly like normal couples do.” He winked at her, and she looked confused.

He offered her his hand, and she took it.

He said: “Let’s go to a blacksmith. The one in Darry will not compete with the armorers in Lannisport or in Kingslanding, but better than nothing.”

“I thought we are not allowed to fight!”

“We need tourney swords!”

**********J&B**********  
  


On their way to the gate, they picked up Peck. He was unusually reluctant to join them to go to the blacksmith. He babbled something about some of the knights who wanted to show him this place...

“What place?” asked Brienne.

Peck blushed, he shuffled his feet.

Jaime said: “You are coming with us. A good squire should visit every blacksmith he can. Every time you learn something new. I can’t imagine what lessons ser Quenten and ser Stanford could teach you that are more important than what you will learn at the smithy. Actually, I think you have outgrown your chain mail. You need a new one.”

Peck’s eyes went shiny again.

The armorer outside the burrow’s gates was not as good as the ones in Lannisport, it was solid craftsmanship, but not exciting. He was at least polite enough, in the gruff manner blacksmiths showed in all over the realm. His curses relied on the Smith’s various body parts and made Brienne blush. Jaime tried to memorize them but was distracted by her blushes and the shimmer in her eyes. The smith showed them his swords, his enormous smutty arms bulging as he hefted them on the work table with a promising clank. The anvil was drumming under the hammer beats, the quenching tub was hissing. While Jaime was forging his wench into a malleable mood by letting her choose. Even Addam couldn’t have done better.

The hilts of the blunted swords were practical and boring, but the balance of the blades was acceptable. She decided quickly on two favorites. A heavier one for her. Then they helped Peck to get fitted. Peck puffed up and tried to span his arm muscles as the blacksmith groped his shoulders to check whether the new chain mail was not too loose.

Jaime felt sorry for him and said: “You can never compete with the muscles of a blacksmith. A knight needs more than a strong arm, he needs speed.”

Brienne said sagely: “In youth, you gain first height and then strength. You will soon start the second phase, Peck. Trust me!”

Then they started a mock fight with the new swords, till the blacksmith shooed them out.

On their way back to the inn in the burrow, they crossed a stall that was selling fried cod. Jaime had a revelation. She had said, she liked to eat fish, hadn’t she? He went to the stall to buy some. It was no fresh sea fish, but better than nothing. His wife and his squire headed to two girls who had pastries on sale.

He joined them after he had given the fish frier too many coppers. He was too lazy to count. One girl was wrapping plum pastries for them. The other one was seducing Peck.

She was a pretty little thing, and Jaime smiled at the eagerness his squire was listening to her tale of how dangerous the road between Darry and Harrenhal had become. The girl spun some yarn about green-skinned men with horns, who were attacking travelers at night. She giggled too much while telling Peck, how much safer, she and her sister would feel, if they traveled at light or under the protection of brave men like Peck surely was, but that they must head back this night to resume their work in the buttery of Harrenhal. And all on their own. She sighed dramatically.

Peck yelled: “You can’t go alone! That’s not right! We are knights. We should protect you” His voice changed from man to child and back again.

Brienne straightened and gripped the hilt of her sword.

He said: “You are no knight, yet, Peck, I should know.”

The girls finally turned to him. The pretty one got huge eyes and curtsied, she must have been training an awful lot: “My lord, but I know you!”

He felt his teeth clench: “Where from?”

She was looking at him with hooded eyes: “I have seen you some years ago at the tourney, ser Jaime. I was a slip of a girl when you came for Lord Whent’s tourney and the king cloaked you. You were so handsome all in white, and everyone said what a brave knight you were.”

He waved it away: “I can’t remember.”

She came to him, fell to her knees, and clutched his legs: “Would you and your men protect us, my lord?”

He stepped away: “Only against these green men? Or are there also some grumkins haunting Harrenhal’s forests?“

„No, it’s true. The green men are coming from the island in the God’s Eye. No one can get to the Isle of Faces. If you dare, a storm comes up, or you get attacked by birds. The green men are safe there.“

Brienne said: “I can testify for that.”

He barked at her: “How? You never tried to get there.” And turned to the girls: “Ask lord Whent for help! The Lannister ought not to intervene in Riverlanders’ trouble. Peck, Brienne come!“

He tossed her a dragon: “Buy a guard!“ and strutted away. 

Brienne and Peck followed him after a while. They were putting their heads together and eyed him warily.

“Wench, squire! I have cot for you.”

Brienne took the food without thanking him. She chewed thoughtfully, then asked: “Aren’t knights bound to protect maidens?”

“There aren’t maidens, but small folk girl. The pretty one was too feisty for my liking. There are no green men, Brienne. It’s a ruse.”

“What for? Pia and Lia seem to be honestly scared. They are alone on the road tonight... A good knight should care for small folk and the innocents. We are bound to protect them. We are bound by oath.”

He said harshly: “You mean, I am. You are no knight, and neither is Peck. Didn’t you realize that she wanted to seduce me? They always do. Playing the damsel in distress is pretty effective for some men.”

He jutted his chin towards Peck who looked very reproachful.

They walked in silence to the inn. He left them alone and went to look for Addam who asked eagerly:

“How did it go?”

“First well, we went to the blacksmith to buy tourney swords, but then there were some girls and...”

Addam sighed deeply. 

“Spare me your scorn. I had enough of that for one day. Fetch ser Quenten and ser Stanford! I have an assignment for them. There is a pastry stall near the sept. The two girls who are selling there are called Pia and Lia. They have to go back to Harrenhal this night, unprotected, the forest is dangerous. Quenten and Stanford have to guard their journey.”

**********J&B**********

This night he woke up from a confusing dream about his mother. The candles were blown out, the fire dim. He shuffled towards Brienne. The bed was empty, the linen still warm. He went up. Her clothes, her sword, most of her mail were gone. She had left the crimson cloak behind.

Brienne had taken flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lia is an OC (I think the second after Selwyn’s mistress), she sparkles at night, in the next chapter she will fight Jaime and Brienne with her rolling pin, then conquer Westeros on a plum-colored dragon, they will call her Lia Sue I. Everyone loves her because she is adorably clumsy. (I needed a second Harrenhal woman and couldn’t find another canon name, sorry.)
> 
> Next: my favorite chapter, I can’t wait to share it!


	8. Fright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quest, girl-talk, then action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wanted to write an action scene, please bear with me. I combined it with more than a dash of romance and Brienne is getting some sex-ed. 
> 
> Potential trigger: there’s a tiny amount of gore in the second half. I would say about a hundredth of show/book gore, but if you are very, very squeamish about blood, skim it. No character deaths or maiming, but some characters have to endure some wounds.

It was the right thing to do.

The Evenstar was shining and gave her counsel and direction. The road stretched in front of them like a ribbon of moonlight, wisps of mist were creeping from the swamps they were crossing, owls screeched out in disdain. Brienne tightened her cloak around her neck. She reached over to check Peck’s helmet and knocked playfully at the metal. He sent her a grateful smile, his teeth gleaming in the dark:

“Do you think the girls are far ahead of us?”

“I don’t think so, we ride faster than their cart will run.”

They had lost precious time because Brienne had to wait till Jaime was fast asleep. Then it took them a while to convince the head of the night watch to open the gate. She explained the situation, he stayed relentless. 

Peck whispered: “Ser Jaime would bribe him with a dragon.” 

Desperate, she followed the advice. The watchman bit the golden coin to test it. Soon after, the portcullis opened its jaw and spit them out into the night.

How she hated it, that she had to rely on vile Lannister tactics! But it was a higher good at stake than her stance on knightly conduct. They had to save two innocent girls.

A wind was whispering in the leaves, something rustled through the scrubs, then a snarl and hisses.

“A hedgehog,” she told Peck who looked startled.

The last two days had felt like a whiplash. First, she was angry at Jaime and confused. She had enjoyed fighting him with live steel and felt elevated to win. But she was not able to phantom the reason he took her on. He didn’t fight like he wanted to kill her and neither like he wanted to die. But it was reckless and stupid to do so. Mayhap he liked to temp the fate? 

And then there was the kiss. Her blood had been high, she felt ecstatic that she knocked him down. But why did it make his body react the way it did? Had she gained another weapon for her arsenal to win future fights? It couldn’t be honorable to wield it. And why did it even work? He was not blind, he could never find her attractive.

A sharp bark, then keening, a whimper.

“Just deer, Peck, just deer.”

His kiss had surprised her. It was her first real kiss. The peck in the sept didn’t count, it was not given in free-will. At first, the kiss was pleasant. She liked his hand in her hair, his short beard tingling her skin, his firm lips were pressed on hers. When he pursed them, it sent a jolt through her body and she gasped. And then the exhilarating and foreign tip of his tongue met hers. It ignited a throbbing ache, and she pressed her hips lower to seek relief. It was a revelation that a tongue could be supple and powerful at the same time. It felt wonderful and too much at once, she had to shove him off.

Peck asked: “Do you think there are really green men coming from the Isle of Faces at night to pull people into the swamps?”

She checked their surroundings. The moon made the tree shadows grow. Their branches were twisted and crooked and adorned with long beards of gray lichen, swaying like funerals’ garlands. Men with green skin, horns, and sharp claws seemed more likely than they had seemed in the middle of a sunlight lively market. She sent a silent prayer to the Warrior and wished for courage and a strong arm.

“No, Peck, there are no green men, but I believe there’s a danger for the girls, maybe outlaws.”

“Are we doing the right thing? Ser Jaime will be very angry that we run away.”

She tucked too hard on the reins and her mare whinnied.

“Hush. We are doing the right thing. I don’t care what he thinks. You are still a squire, but you are more a knight than all the Lannister men.”

“And so are you.” His voice sounded boyish and earnest.

They were riding in silence. The trees were coming closer, the road smaller, she was listening warily to every faint noise.

“What are those?” asked Peck and showed her the dark flecks that flitted over the moon and its rainbow-colored halo.

“Bats, Peck, just bats. There are no ghosts here nor snarks. You are a very promising squire. One day you will be a great knight. Ser Jaime, with all his shortcomings, wouldn't have chosen you as squire if you weren’t.”

Peck straightened in the saddle.

At the market, Jaime and she had finally talked. But what was the conclusion? She didn’t understand what he meant them to do, how to proceed. Her treacherous heart fluttered, whenever he looked at her, or they touched. She was so aware of his smell that the longing to come closer, to bask in it, became unbearable. What was happening to her?

They had fun at the blacksmith. It had felt like a peace offering. But then he revealed his true nature again. He refused to help two innocent girls. He was only a knight by name. How despicable of her, that she had mellowed her stance towards such a vile man. She was grateful the Gods were showing her a way to atone for her weak heart and her weaker body. She was frazzled by beauty, succumbing to sweet talk. She never had thought that her heart was so shallow. Now she had to find her true self again: she was on a mission to protect those girls. The Gods would help her to protect her own heart, too.

There in the far distance was a tiny tumbling light. It was swaying and sparkling.

“There”, she said to Peck, “it must be the girls.”

“It looks like the Crone’s lamp.”

“She will guide us safely.”

“She will guide us to the Stranger’s icy hands.”

“Stop being fatalistic. We are doing, what we have to do if we honor knighthood. There’s no choice. Listen! Aren’t there voices? Are they singing?”

They made their horses trot. The song became louder.

“She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair, But he licked the honey from her hair. Her hair! Her hair! He licked the honey from her hair!”

Peck said: “That is ser Quenten’s baritone! And the higher voice is ser Stanford’s!”

Two females voices sang the next lines: “Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air!”

“What are they doing with Lia and Pia?”

“They are singing, my lady.”

“No, I mean on the road!”

Peck beamed: “Ser Jaime must have sent them! I always knew that he is a good knight.”

She felt suddenly light-headed. That couldn’t be true! Her world started to shift, and she struggled against it. The knights must have decided on their own to help the girls.

Peck shouted: “Ser Stanford! Ser Quenten! Well met!”

A lantern was illuminating the bawdy group. Two horses, one palfrey with Ser Quenten and Lia, the other one on a leash bound to the cart pulled by a meager rouncey. The cart was filled with flax sacks, in front sat ser Stanford with Pia in his lap, the reins loosely around his hands.

Instead of greeting them, they continued to bawl all together: “And off they went, from here to there, The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair.”

Brienne yelled: “Stop at once!”

Ser Stanford shoved Pia from his lap and said: “That was the end of the song. You arrive just on time. Well met, lady Lannister! Peck! What are you doing on this road alone at night? Looking for trouble? Trying to bewitch another man and geld him?”

“Watch your tongue,” said ser Quenten, “she will squeal it to Jaime, and that means longer night watches and whatever.”

She was outraged: “I won’t! You are drunk. But sers, what are you doing here?”

“We got an assignment to guard them. We went unwilling, but got lucky with the company.”

Pia giggled, petted his cheek and squeezed his arm: “And good guards we got from the Lion, handsome and strong ones.”

“But," asked ser Quenten, “what are you doing here? Did he punish you? For your win? That doesn’t seem likely. He is a fair loser in the yard.”

Brienne asked: “Did he punish you with this duty?”

“Not exactly a punishment. He doesn’t like how we spend our coin. He wanted to make a point about it. Someone ratted on us...“ His head turned to Peck.

Peck raised his hands: “I said nothing!”

“We will discuss it later, Peck. But why did he send you, my lady? Not chastisement, no. It must be something else... does it get him off to let you play knight, my lady, to send you on a quest? It’s rather dangerous, though. I wouldn’t do that with my wife. Although it’s not very likely that I found one who is so skilled with the blade as you are.”

Brienne said: “We came here on free-will, of course!”

Stanford slapped his tight and barked: “He doesn’t know it? And your run off with his squire?” 

He heaved with laughter and Brienne was glad that the night and her helmet covered her blush.

Ser Quenten shoved a wineskin over to her, right into her chest: “You are really a lioness, aren’t you? Methinks, he deserves you, you will keep him on his toes, in all imaginable meanings. Drink, fierce lady! Hear me roar!”

Whoever had a wineskin took a gulp, Brienne sipped because it seemed impolite not to. Then she reorganized the group, and they followed her orders without much grumbling. The two men had to sit on their horses, alone. Peck in the cart, because he was not drunk and likely in a better state to serve as a coachman. Lia got Peck’s horse, and Pia was to sit before Brienne.  
  


**********J&B**********  
  


Brienne took the lead of the group.

Pia asked: “How is it, lady Lannister?” and sighed. 

“How is what?” 

“To be lady Lannister...”

“I can’t say, I left my home less than a moon ago. I’ve never seen the Rock, nor the Westerlands.”

“Silly, I’m not talking about castles and kingdoms, I ask how it is to be with your lord husband.”

“He is a very skilled swordsman, but else rather exhausting.”

“He wears you out? That’s called honeymoon. And you seem to have good stamina, too. You will get used to it and then you will not know how you would fare without him. I’m sure he is gentle. Or do you like it rough? I’m a very good judge of a man’s character. I wouldn’t have survived so long without this skill. I knew that your lord husband would help us, and he did. See, how good I am? I know that he must be a wonderful husband to you. So, tell me some details! I’m no innocent maiden, and keen to hear more.”

Brienne felt bewildered: “Details about what exactly? Are you interested in sword fights?”

“You do it after fights? Maiden! Ahh... Is he good with his mouth?”

“He can be rather witty, yes, you could say that.”

Pia giggle and sighed dreamily: “Sometimes when I'm with some man, I close my eyes and pretend it's him on top of me, with his smooth skin and golden curls. He was such a handsome knight at that tourney and became more handsome since. But don’t be afraid, I like you. I would never seduce him to spite you. And I don’t think I could succeed, to be honest. He looks at you like... in his heart, there’s only place for one. I’m sure. But please, I beseech you to give me some fodder for my dreams.”

Brienne spluttered: “You are talking about the marriage bed?”

“Bed? How boring! What about cots, bedrolls, hay, tables... I need everything! Leave nothing out! What does he like? Does he let you be on top? With your figure that must be quite the sight! Did you ever let him do it from behind? I know you noble ladies are no so keen about it, think it’s small folk stuff and beastly. But trust me, you will like it, they can reach certain spots...”

She shoved her bum back in the saddle, right into Brienne’s crotch.

“Stop, stop! At once!” Brienne felt hot all over, swaying between being disgusted and excited.

Pia shuffled forwards and said grumpily: “Alright, alright, you are a tease and don’t want to share. I get it. I thought you a generous one!”

“I... it’s not that. We... we never...”

“You never fucked? Seven hells! Why? He is the most handsome man in Westeros. Do you like women more, or do you hate to be touched?”

Brienne shoved her helmet off. “No, it’s not that. Turn around and look at my face and tell me what you see?”

Pia did and said: “I see funny freckles, a broken nose, likely from a fight, the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen and lips that ought to be kissed. Did he really never kiss you?”

“He did.”

“See! And you never wanted more? He never pressed you?”

“I don’t know... I’m ugly. And I always wanted an honorable husband. And there’s another woman, who broke his heart.”

“He is honorable. He sent his knights, his wife, and his squire to protect two commoners. And he gave me a gold coin and I didn’t have to work for it. You are not pretty, yes, it’s true. But there’s an ugly woman at Harrenhal who earns much more money than I do. You can compensate for the lack of beauty. And he has a broken heart? Perfect, you sweep in and heal his heart and he will be forever grateful. I think actually there’s already something going on. In Darry at the stall, he was constantly looking at you to seek your approval.”

Brienne shook her head. The girl’s talk made no sense. But there was something she could ask her, she said:

“One night after the other woman broke his heart, he asked me to touch him.”

Pia asked eagerly: “Where?”

“You know, there...”

Pia giggled: “Call it cock!”

“As I said, I touched him there, but he looked pained.”

“They always do. That means they like it.”

“He likes pain?”

“Maybe? You have to find out later. Bite him in the shoulder when you come, so you can test it. Or scratch him. But I didn’t mean that. All men look like they are in pain when they enjoy it the most.”

“Oh... And then it kind of pulsed and it was all sticky, but not blood, more whitish. Is that normal?”

Pia laughed, but it sounded good-natured and bubbly. Brienne didn’t felt offended.

Pia sighed: “Maiden! You are really an innocent one, aren’t you? Don’t you nobles have septa’s to teach you the basics?”

“My septa taught me to snuff all candles and only thrust my mirror.”

“Hmm”, said Pia, “these are advanced lessons. To fuck in the dark can be nice, your sense of smell and touch are enhanced, but with such a handsome man! Darkness is a total waste if you ask me. I would suggest blindfolding him instead. So you can ogle him as much as you want. And he doesn’t get smug about it. Then give him head, and I promise he will lose his!” She sniggered and continued in a pensive tone: "I have never humped in front of a mirror. There are no mirrors in the servants’ quarters. But I guess it could be fun.”

Brienne imagined septa Roelle riding beside them, her ugly pinched face and outraged cries. She barked a laugh and soon couldn’t stop laughing, Pia joined in. Her sweet giggle and Brienne’s hearty laughter filled the night.

A whoosh, a thud, a piercing shriek. Peck!  
  


**********J&B**********

Brienne reined her mare in. One horse reared, the other bucked, the men screamed. The rouncey with the cart had taken off like the seven hells were on its heels. It took her a moment to comprehend what had happened. Someone or something had jumped from the tree and attacked them... attacked Peck. Brienne lifted Pia from her saddle, her helmet fell downwards, she kicked her legs into her mares side and they chased after the cart. It slithered through the curve of the road. The lamp swayed like a fanal on a ship in the throes of a storm.

Peck yelled: “Help!”

She stood up in the stirrups, ducked under the branches.

“Go girl! Go!"

Her mare was faster, they caught up. A green man or was it some beast? was upon Peck who tried to fight it off. It was dark of fur and had white stripes. Was that a shadowcat? She couldn’t ride around the cart. The road was too narrow. There was no way she could get to the rouncey’s reins. She had to jump onto the cart.

“Warrior, make me land safely!”

She spurred her mare to her fastest pace ever, slipped the foot near the side of the cart out of the stirrup, turned it, and put her heel back in, she swung the other leg over the saddle. She took the stirrup as leverage for one foot, set the other against the saddle. She thought about her jumps from the cliffs of Tarth, tightened her leg muscles, let go, flew through the air, and landed in a cloud of white dust. A sack of flour had softened her landing. She wiped the dust from her face. The cat had let go of Peck and was starring startled at its next enemy. She climbed over the sacks to Peck, reached after him, and pulled. He was still alive but frozen in shock. The shadowcat opened its jaw and hissed at her, showed its enormous fangs. Its green eyes were gleaming. It swept an angry paw at her. She pulled her sword and stabbed. It swept again and hit her blade, its power resonated throughout her arm. She tried again. It began to crawl towards her. She stepped back and knocked the lantern down. The cat’s swings were too strong, more powerful than any knight’s, she risked to lose her sword. She switched it around, took the blade in her bare hands and crashed the hilt on the beast’s skull. Had she managed to stall it? It shook its head drowsily. It barred its fangs and snarled, then resumed its way towards her. Suddenly she smelt smoke and looked around. The lantern oil had put the sacks on fire. Peck was whimpering, she stamped on some flames. Desperate she started to stab at the cat, so the blood loss would weaken its strength. One slice at the left flank, a jab at the throat, the skin never broke.

Wham! An explosion! She grabbed the side of the cart and hold on with her left hand for dear life, her sword still in her right one. Half the cart had blown off. Peck was gone. The rest of the back end of the cart scratched over the road. Meanwhile, the shadowcat had leaped on the back of the horse. The rouncey shrieked, fell, the cart crashed.

Splinters, flour, and fire, everything was upside down.

Brienne was disoriented, found herself stuck under the cart. What had happened? The flour dust, of course! She remembered the explosion of a corn mill at Tarth very well. She fought off flames. She fumbled around. There was her sword. She managed to lift the cart with the strength of her shoulders and scrambled out. Her leg hurt, the rips hurt, a burn on her wrist, her palms ached. The horse was laying on the ground, its legs kicked, it snorted in panic. The shadowcat hung on the horse’s throat, but as soon as it saw Brienne it let its prey go. The cat looked warily into the fire, and she hoped it would chase the beast away. It sat on his hindquarters, then leaped towards her. She sidestepped, and the cat missed her barely, she could smell its feral reek. It shuffled. She stabbed after the eyes, escaped the maw, tried the heart, the paw-sweep again. She grabbed some dust and chucked it to the gleaming eyes. The cat blinked and raised a paw. The fire was roaring behind her. She felt the heat on her skin.

She looked quickly over her shoulder. The burning cart blocked the road. The shrubs around it were thick. She was on her own. No one would able to reach her, to come to her help. Shadow and light danced over the cat’s fur, the green eyes reflected the flames, and its fangs were gleaming. It hissed and screeched, tried to walk around Brienne. Where were its weak spots? Why hadn’t she listened more closely to Galladon’s tale? He had used a spear to kill his hunt. Her sword was too short. The beast cocked its head and looked at something behind her. Was the fire growing? Against all odds the other knights? Or was it one of its mates?

She had to be sure and looked over her shoulder. A knight on a horse leaped over the burning cart. The horse folded his forelegs to the chest like in prayer, its neck rose, flaring nostrils. A crimson cloak fluttered, hair shone like gold, the lights of the flames danced over a raised blade.

“Jaime!”

He jumped from his horse, sent it away with a slap, pulled at her arm.

“Get behind me!”

Jaime shoved her away and started to circle the shadowcat. The fire was sending sparks. The flames were licking higher. Jaime stabbed. The cat snarled and threatened him with its paw. He attacked again, the paw stroke, talons gleamed. He seemed to try to get to its heart, too. 

Brienne cried: “You can’t reach the heart!”

The animal growled at her, it prowled with smooth steps, Jaime was light on his feet. It hissed, he growled and showed his teeth. His hair was so golden, his cloak looked like it was tinted in blood. A stab with the sword, a swipe with the paw, again and again. She had to act or she would lose him. Brienne gripped the hilt of her sword with both hands. The fire was burning hotly. The shadowcat didn’t see her, maybe blinded by the flames or Jaime’s beauty. She walked silently around it. It planned to leap to Jaime. Its whole body was tense. She wouldn’t let it kill Jaime. What had Pia told her about using your head to lose one? She raised her sword in a roof guard high over hers. She jumped. She put all her force into the blow. Her sword slashed down. She and the sword became one and were on fire. She hit the beast’s neck with a crunch.

The head fell. She had chopped it off in one clean blow. It rolled at Jaime’s feet. The shadowcat’s body collapsed, the legs twitched. Blood spluttered out of the wound that looked like an angry red rose. The gushes sprayed her and Jaime.

He was panting and turned around: “Are you crazy, wench? It could have killed you!”

“Or you! What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same with more justification. You ran and I ran after you.”

Suddenly he grinned, kicked the beast’s head away, took her hand, pulled it up, and shouted: “Hear me roar! You killed a shadowcat with a sword!”

“We did it together! When the sun sets, we shine!”

He said her house’s words together with her, then looked at the fires and asked: “Are you hurt?”

She hardly felt the pain: “It’s nothing. Only a burn, some bruises, my palms are cut.”

He took her hands, turned them around, and kissed the palms lightly.

“The blade?”

“I tried to smash its head with the pommel.”

“You need lighter gauntlets, so that you never forget them again. And where’s your helmet?”

“I lost it.”

“I thought I had lost you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you sent knights after the girls?”

“It didn’t seem relevant.” He smiled at her. His face was dirty with blood, but was oh so handsome. He pointed to the body of the beast: “But look, what you have done, you ruined the fur! I always wanted to hang a shadowskin into my hall, head, legs, tail, and all. Now it’s headless!"

“I warned you that fashion isn’t my forte.”

“I can try to sew it on again. I learned sewing as a boy. I bet I’m better than you!”

He stepped nearer and caressed her face. She had to lower her head to look into his eyes. They were very earnest: “You saved my life.”

“And you saved mine.”

“It hurt me, that you fled, but I’m impressed that you lit a bonfire to celebrate my arrival. It’s rather hot, though. Don’t you think?”

“Oh, shut up! Do you ever stop joking?”

He removed his cloak and dapped the fabric gently over her face.

“Can I show you how grateful I am for the bonfire? That you are alive?”

She gulped: “Please do.”

He circled his arm around her and hugged her fiercely, her rips hurt, she flinched, and he reluctantly let go. Then he took her head in his hands, pulled it carefully down, stroke over her face that must look frightening, all covered in blood and flour and ash. He didn’t look frightened, though, but in awe. She shuffled nearer, his face came close. He cupped her chin and bent her head slightly. Their lips met, she opened her mouth and his tongue sought entrance. Her tongue touched his. It felt still foreign, but gloriously so. She sighed and he moaned. She pressed her lips into his, was lightheaded, and felt fierce. She pushed her tongue into his, and he retreated at once.

Brienne asked: “Have I done someone wrong?"

“No, no...” he peppered her neck with tiny kisses, “you smell like a lioness who had slain a shadowcat. And..." she felt his smile on her neck “it wakes the lion in me.”

A booming voice asked: “Are we interrupting something?”

Pia and Lia giggled and clapped.

The knights and the girls had finally managed to come through the undergrowth.

Jaime said: “You have just the right timing. Thank you for your significant help, sers!”

Ser Quenten said: “You have to learn to be patient, ser Jaime. There will be enough time for the smooching later. How is Peck?”

Brienne gasped. Peck!

They found him, moaning in the shrubs. 

Brienne asked: “Peck, how are you.”

With a raspy voice, he said: “You saved me, my lady. Like in the songs...”

They checked his body. He was very lucky that the shadowcat cat didn’t hurt any vital organs. He was covered in deep bleeding scratches, burns, and the cat had bitten into his left shoulder. They cleaned the wounds quickly with the wine and wrapped them in temporary bandages. He wouldn’t die of blood loss. The girls were very helpful, Lia had a knack for the wrapping, Pia excelled in cooing and petting the poor squire. They weren’t shedding a single tear.

Pia was washing a scratch on Peck’s leg and said to Brienne who was holding him down: “My lady, see, I told you so! You can compensate lack in certain areas with abundance in others.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Jaime curiously, and gave Lia more cloth.

Pia said bashfully: “That’s between me and my lady, my lord.”

“Your lady?”

“You will take us with you now, aren’t you?”

“I will?”

“They will not miss us at Harrenhal. And when they will come upon this scene, they will think we fell victim to the green men and not look after us.”

Jaime sighed: “What do you think, my lady? Are you in dire need of two rather feisty handmaidens?”

Brienne straightened the bandage and said: “It depends. Pia, Lia, how good are you in polishing mail and swords?”

Pia winked: “I don’t know much about mail, my lady, but I’m pretty sure I can help you with the sword situation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swore to let all limbs intact, see, I’m an oath keeper! The plot-armor was strong.
> 
> A shoutout to all the dedicated people who produce tons of YouTube vids and Reddit threads about how to kill a tiger with a sword. I bet they think it’s strange to write romance fanfics, so let’s try not to judge them.
> 
> Next: Peck needs better care than the maester of castle Darry can provide. Where do you turn to, when you need medical assistance near the Bay of Crabs? Exactly! It is rather quiet there... you can only speak if you want to confess, preferably with kudos and comments.


	9. Sleight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pining on a silent island (aka our boy has it bad and gets cockblocked by penitents).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I hope this is still M, if no please tell me and close your eyes while reading. I guess it’s sweet enough to be still M. It’s definitely NFSW.

They were approaching Darry on horseback at dawn. The Trident was still rushing his lullaby, although the Morningstar was already blinking over the castle. Soon the cloudy sky was tinted azure, blushed into a rosy hue, turned to crimson. A glorious golden sun emerged behind the clouds.

“Look,” Jaime said softly to Brienne, who was sitting before him, engulfed in his arms, “the sky is showing our houses’ joined colors.”

“And there are stars and the moon,” she said drowsily, “but where is the lion?”

He leaned closer, brushed some wisps of hair behind her ear, and whispered: “Right behind you.”

She smelt of lemon and copper and salt, a bit like the brine at the Sunsetsea. He watched the goosebumps pucker at her neck and struggled against the urge to nuzzle her cheek. 

She sighed. After the blood rush of the fight had calmed down, her wounds must hurt her, exhaustion set in.

“We are soon at the inn, and then we will send for the castle’s maester so he can help Peck and check your burns and cuts.”

She nodded weakly. 

As they had started their journey back to Darry, Brienne insisted to hold Peck in her arms. Then she caught her swaying in the saddle, and he ordered ser Stanford to take Peck in her stead and asked Brienne to sit before him. She agreed at once, it made him unreasonably happy. Ser Quenten looked rather smug that he was sharing his horse with Pia, but the hide of the shadowcat was also bound to his mount. Jaime definitely had the sweeter smell to bask in.

**********J&B**********

At the inn, they were greeted with much excitement. They laid the barely conscious Peck on a table and forced some ale down his throat.

Jaime sent the landlord to fetch the maester, but he responded:

“To be honest, m’lord, he is a drunkard and a leecher. My daughter is rather good with her needle. She can take care of your squire’s first treatment if you wish, m’lord. When we are very ill here in Darry, we usually send for the wood witch.”

“I don’t like that. Is there no other option?”

“I would advise going to the Quiet Isle, m’lord. A septry with penitents, who swore to never speak. Only the Elderbrother is allowed to. The Gods blessed him with healing hands. He is famous and much better than most maesters.“

„How long will it take us to get there?“

„It’s about a day’s ride. The first part is easy. Follow the Trident, till its mouth, there is the town of Saltpans, they don’t have a maester, but you can cross over to the Quiet Isle. If the Bay of Crabs is at low tide, you go on foot. Ask a fisherman there. The way through the Bay is full of quicksand and dangerous on your own. They produce honey and vegetables on the isle. It’s very peaceful there. Only - the penitents of the convent are not very verbose as you seem to prefer for your company...”

He waved him off and told him to send for his daughter.

Jaime looked around. His once proud men looked more like a motley crew than knights in shining armor. Serving wenches with platters pilled with eggs and bacon darted between the tables. His wench was sitting on a bench and sleeping, her light-haired head buried in her arms. Addam, the squires, and the girls were fluttering over Peck like startled fowl. With an absurd mummery, ser Stanford retold the cat’s attack to the ones who had stayed behind. As a prop, he used the severed head of the beast and accentuated his tale with false sounding hisses and roars. Broom and Lydden asked questions, Stanford couldn’t answer them properly. Brienne‘s feat sounded very outlandish, and Jaime’s part in the slaying was exaggerated. Stanford told them about the fight without a hint of shame although he hadn’t been there. Jaime was determined to correct the tale later. Some men were toasting with shouts of “hear me roar”. And Jast and Banefort were singing the Rains of Castamere in a corner. How tasteless! He wandered over. The words didn’t sound right:

“And who are you, the lady said, that I chop off your head? Only a cat of a stripey coat, that’s all the truth I know. In a coat of gold or a coat of black, a kitten still has claws...”

His head began to pound.

He roared: “Attention everyone!” Instant blissful quiet. “We depart at once, to the Saltpans, and then we head over to the Quiet Isle.”

Some penitence, discipline, and silence would do them more than good. He shuddered at the image how the Tullys would gloat if he showed up at their tourney with this rowdy bunch in tow. He imagined what his father would say, but this made him smile.

**********J&B**********

The ride to the Quiet Isle dragged on, the horses walked, no canter to shake Jaime awake. He yawned. Peck was bound to a stretcher and mumbled feverish nonsense. Brienne looked tired, she sat gingerly on her mare. Sadly she had refused to share his mount again. She had pinned up her hair, and he longed to kiss her neck again. When he grinned at her, she answered with a quickly faltering smile and blushed. Sometimes she touched her lips. With another maid, he had balked to get lured in by mere simpering. Brienne was not doing it on purpose, though. There was no guile in her. He wondered whether she liked his head-tilting, the puffed-up chest, and his winks, or whether she found his flirting annoying. He had to test it more to be sure. Teasing her pepped him up, there was no reason to stop it. Nonchalantly he smoothed his golden locks back.

As the day progressed, Jaime got more tired than he liked to admit. He asked Brienne about her wounds, she answered with a scoff and talked about Peck. Somber thoughts crept back in. Jaime had almost lost her. The thought made him ache and he refused to ponder it further. He had gone through fire to save her. She had outdone him by delivering the final blow to the beast. The willing accepted kiss showed him that she appreciated his efforts. He was glad, that she was alive. More than glad if he was honest. How fast he had gotten used to her! Barely a moon and he would already miss her scowling at his antics, and her longish lectures about honor and oaths. He would miss the fierce slashes of her blade, too. He would miss her eyes that were bluer than the sky over the Isle that crept slowly nearer as they staggered over the so-called path of faith. A local fisherboy served as their lead, without a local, there was the danger to perish in the mudflats. It was called the path of faith, the boy told them on their wayward and slow progress because the wicked were to be drowned by the tide or swallowed by the quicksands. The Gods liked the Lannisters apparently, likely because they were rich.

Dusk set in, the sun sunk in Jaime’s back, as they slowly got closer to the septry on an upthrust island. A gentle breeze blew over the bay, the tide began to swell. He could still discern a merry windmill that waved them nearer with its torn sails, a lush orchard that promised cider, grazing sheep that spoke of crusty mutton legs.

Three men were waiting for them at the shore of the isle. They wore brown robes and looked quite dull.

Jaime bowed with a flourish and said in his best Lannister voice: “Well met, humble brothers. My name is Jaime Lannister. Those are my men. My squire got attacked by a shadowcat. He needs a healer. We heard high praise about your Elderbrother’s healing skills. A swordswench slew the beast, she suffered some burns and cuts and needs a healer, too. I know you are not allowed to speak. I do it in your stead, don’t worry. Can you take the wounded to the healer and give us accommodations that fit our standing? We pay for everything in gold. New stained glass for the septry? New cloth for the windmill’s sails? You will not regret to give us lodging, food, and help for the wounded. We are famous to pay our debts, after all.”

Before he had finished his well-worded speech two brothers had already taken Peck on his stretcher, ushered Brienne to walk along and the third made signs for them to follow.

He cried after Brienne, but she mouthed: “Hush!” And put one calloused finger to her plush lips. It shouldn’t look hot, but it did.

**********J&B**********

Their stay on the Quiet Isle was not like Jaime had imagined it to be. The brothers made them work. No knightly deeds, no wild beasts to slay or maidens to rescue. No, they had to do tedious, hard, manual labor, not appropriate for his bannermen and less for the lions of the Rock. They had to dig up a fishpond, set fences, press apples, even pluck weeds.

Normally this humiliating toil would have outraged him. But to be wed must have mellowed him down. It bothered him much more, that he was not to share a hut with Brienne. He had hoped their relationship would escalate quickly after the kiss. But the dull penitents set it on halt.

The first night he had missed Brienne immensely, her soft muffles and her warmth. He had gotten used to sharing a cot with the wench. He was already grumpy that they got only oat and water for dinner, neither mutton nor cider. Then a so-called proctor, who was allowed to speak for a day a week, explained to them that lady Brienne had to stay near the healer that night. He accepted it after Addam convinced him to humor the brothers.

The next morning he woke up well-rested and filled with an unexplainably bubbly joy. He dressed quickly and went to look for Brienne. Paths with wooden steps connected the different areas of the island, and he headed off in the direction of the septry. He skipped one step or two like he would have done as boy. Then he ran into a silent brother who beckoned him to follow, he led him to a cave on the side of the isle. The Elderbrother stood beside a chestnut tree that covered the entrance.

The Elderbrother greeted him in accordance with Jaime’s rank and fame: politely with a dash of disdain. He had shrewd eyes and big hands fitter to break bones than to heal them. His stance was tall and proud, he was not old, only the tonsure spoke of his humble position, his shoulders looked like any strong knight’s would. He informed Jaime quickly that his companion was well and would heal without a blemish, but Peck would take some weeks to get better if the Gods were merciful. If not, the fever would take him to the Stranger. But Peck was young, so the Elderbrother was optimistic that the Warrior would let him live.

“Can I see them now?”

“You have to be patient, ser.”

“I’m an impatient man.” He picked some shiny chestnuts from the ground. As a boy, he had made little lions with them. Would Briennelike to have a lion figurine as a mate for her little wooden lioness?

“We come to this isle to change and not to stay the same.”

O Gods be good, Jaime thought, he balled his fist around the chestnuts: ”I can give you gold.”

“You talk like I’m an innkeeper. We don’t need your coin. We are after your souls. You should do what your heart tells you to do: the righteous thing, ser. You have to oblige if you want my help as a healer.”

“Deal! Can I see the lady Brienne now?”

“This is a place of penitence, not for leisure, ser Jaime.”

Jaime suppressed a sigh. The first of many sighs to suppress. 

After Brienne got better they placed her in a cabin on the women’s side of the isle. He asked why he couldn’t visit her, instead of answers he got vague gestures, and the Elderbrother claimed to be busy, without a doubt lecturing the mute brothers who were bound to swallow his drivel about hearts and souls without the chance to talk back. Jaime’s heart told him exactly what to do: to bed Brienne. 

She also got other chores to do than him. They never worked together. It was as if they were cursed. It would have been easier if he never saw her... Instead, he was forced to admire her from afar. These glimpses would likely drive him crazy soon and make his hurting balls combust. How strong she looked when she helped Pia carry the washing! The clank of a blade against a tree on the women’s side sounded like a song that lured him in. During a meal he picked at some vegetables, suddenly he smelled her, looked up, she had walked by the open window of the refectory, he leaped to the window and watched her go. She walked like a warrior, this back, these legs, her ass...

Once he was hip-deep in a new fishpond they had to dig. It was a hot day, and he and Addam had taken off their shirts. They sweat like peasants. Addam had to show him how to bind his outgrown hair back with a strip of leather. Then he saw her. Brienne was picking apples from the trees in the orchard, her graceful arm, the slope of her neck... She felt his gaze, turned and sent him a bashful smile, blushed, and waved at him gently. He sprung out of the pit, covered in sweat and mud as he was and stalked off towards her... but like every time he tried such a stunt a taunting brother emerged and glared at him with his mute and reproachful face. Did the brothers need teeth? Certainly not to speak and they ate only mush anyway. He raised his fist, but Brienne shook her head and he relented. His heart was pounding, his cock was hard as marble. He continued to shovel with vigor as if he had to atone for all of his sins.

During feverish nights, he tried to take the problem at hand, a few strokes and he came in hot spurts that made him feel empty. It did never help, the ache, the need came back the next time he saw her, every time fiercer than before.

Then Peck’s temperature broke. The shoulder looked good, there would be a scar, it wouldn’t hinder his fighting. Jaime never met Brienne at his visits, there was so much work to do, that his stays at the sickbed were very short. But they could use the squire as a go-between. 

“Tell her, I want to meet her at once.”

Peck told him the next time: “She took the chestnut animals you left here and answered she doesn’t want to anger the brothers and we have to obey to the rules of this sacred site.”

Jaime said: “Fuck this sacred site.”

Peck raised his eyebrows: “Should I tell that to lady Brienne?”

“Better not, it could cause her distress. When are you fit to sit in the saddle again?”

“In four days!”

“That’s far too long.” He sighed.

Peck was deep in his thoughts. He looked somehow more mature than before the shadowcat had attacked him. He had changed, but Jaime couldn’t pinpoint exactly in which way. It must be the scars and still healing burns.

Peck asked: “Do they lock you in, at night?”

“Of course not! They wouldn’t dare!”

Peck sat up in his cot, and looked at him wisely: “Then go to your at night!”

He slapped his forehead and beamed: “Josmyn Peckledon, it was the right thing to take you on as a squire. You know I never forget about my debts!”

**********J&B**********

The plan was trickier than anticipated. There were a dozen women’s huts and all looked the same in the moonless night. Like Lann the Clever he sneaked into the first hut. A snore greeted him that wasn’t Brienne’s. In the next one there was silence, then a belch. Not Brienne. In the next one a gentle breathing sound, he crept nearer: “Brienne?”

“M’lord! The Maiden heard my prayers!

“Gods! Pia, I’m not here for you. Where’s Brienne?”

Pia leaped out of her cot, stark-naked as she was and he averted his eyes.

She snickered: “I know, I know... you lust after another. Listen, m’lord, I owe you one for taking me into your household. I could show you her lodgings. I sneaked to young Peck, the other night and he was very sweet. But do you think it would be the same with the lady? Would she want to remember her first night like this? Woken up, in the middle of the night, without warning? I don’t think you can seduce her tonight. If you are very unlucky, she thinks you an assaulter and gelds you at once. Wouldn’t that be sad?”

She tried to grope at his crotch and he slapped at her wrist.

“What should I do instead?”

She giggled: “Why are you sneaking around like a green squire? Why don’t you simply share a cabin with her?”

He groaned: “We are not allowed to! That’s the core of the problem.”

“Why not? A woman told me at the washing pond, that married couples can share a cabin!”

He gasped: “Those bastards! They never told me!”

“They are called a silent septry for a reason, m’lord.”

“I’m going to kill the Elderbrother.”

“If I’m allowed to give further advice, m’lord, I really wouldn’t. Ask tomorrow and in a civilized manner. And... I talked with lady Brienne.”

He perked up at that: “About what?”

She pressed her hands into her breasts.

“Do you want a cloak?” 

She laughed, swung the offered cloak around her, and twirled.

He asked: “You talked with her. And? Does she like me? Does she want to do more?”

“She likes you. A lot, I think. But she wouldn’t admit it, perhaps not even to herself. And yes, she wants to bed you. She is rather curious for a shy maiden. But, m’lord, be gentle with her, be patient, let her simmer. Stalk her like a lion would stalk his prey.”

He scoffed: “She is not my first woman.”

“How good are you? Your mouth, your hands, your cock?”

“Good enough, I guess. I never heard a complaint in that department.”

“Can you let a woman come?”

He nodded.

She cooed: ”I’m so jealous. And happy for her, at the same time. Isn’t that strange?”

**********J&B**********

The next morning the Elderbrother didn’t want to talk to him.

“It’s a busy day. The septon from the Saltpans comes to hear our confessions. The only time the penitents are allowed to speak.”

“I can imagine their excitement, but I have to speak to you at once.”

“Do you want to confess, too, my son?”

“Far from it! I want to complain.”

“You excel at that. It starts to get tedious. You want to complain about what this time, ser?” His voice boomed like a commander's, and Jaime eyed him warily and gripped vainly at the pommel of the sword, he had left behind in his cabin. He was at least taller than the Elderbrother and he stood as straight and proud as possible.

“Last night my washerwoman told me an interesting piece of gossip. Married couples can share a cabin here! Why do I have to learn that from washingpond's hearsay?”

“It's certainly true, which she told you. If you washed your dirty laundry on your own, you would hear information sooner that is important to you, methinks.”

“Why did you not tell me? You are an awful host.”

“But, my, ser Jaime, you never asked and you never told us, that you are married.”

“Brienne must have told you!”

“We talked a lot. Your wife is a formidable woman. Let me think... indeed, she might have mentioned it, perhaps? But it was not the center of our discussion. We discussed honor and knighthood, the Faith and humility. You would have profited a lot. You should talk with her more often.”

“You bet, I will. Now I demand shared lodgings.”

“I don’t like your tone. Remember I’m not an innkeeper. But you helped us a lot, you deserve some leniency. I will arrange it. We are very grateful for your labor.”

Jaime scoffed: “That was not given freely. We were forced to work for you!”

“No, that’s not true, normally our guests do nothing than pray.”

“But you said... we had to!”

“We never did. We showed you the places that needed attendance, and you leaped in and started to work. Very eager, like the vilest sinner who came here to find solace in hard labor. As I said, we are very grateful. It saved us a great deal of work, and we used the time to pray instead. Don’t look so grumpy. It did you no harm, and you and your knights might even profit from all the hard work in the next tourney, ser. More muscles are always welcome, are they not? And I hope you learned a lesson.”

Jaime snarled: “How to dig fishponds?”

The Elderbrother chuckled: “No, not the digging. I make it more plainly: You have to be more open with your words, ser. You never told me, that you are married and want to share a cabin with your wife. You never told me that you didn't like the work you did. Ser Jaime, people can’t read your mind, you have to tell them why you do, what you do and did, what you did. You have to tell them your wishes or else you risk to never see them fulfilled."

**********J&B**********

Jaime settled in Brienne's cabin the same morning. She was not there, yet, and he spent his time, storing away his belongings into her trunk. He liked their shirts and breeches cozily lying together. He sniffed at her cushion, rearranged the chestnut animals, so they looked like they were kissing. Then he decided to sharpen his sword. Peck was not fit enough for his duty and he hated to ask the other squires, they wouldn’t do it the right way. It would calm his nerves, too, and he knew that he looked fetching enough cleaning his sword. She would swoon as soon as she would open the door.

She did not swoon.

He rushed to her side: “Wench, wife, I missed you! Finally, we are together.”

He tried to hug her and kiss her, but she shook him off and looked at him oddly.

“What happened? Did I do something wrong? Didn’t you miss me, too?”

“Yes, I missed you. It’s weak, but I did. But this morning, I saw something...”

“A ghost? A dragon? Another shadowcat? I will slay it for you and bring you its head!”

“I saw a horse.”

“A horse? Who cares about a horse?” He tried to grab her arms, but she sidestepped.

“Wait with that. I want to know more about the horse. I worked at the stable like every morning. Then a visitor from the Saltpans came. He had a donkey with him, but rode on a magnificent white stallion.”

“Can we talk about the horses later? I...”

“I recognized this horse at once and asked the septon who was riding it. He told me it can’t be the horse, I knew once, because the one I knew got no name, while it has a name now.”

He sighed: “How is the stallion called then.”

“Tally, the good septon told me, to remind him that there is always a debt to pay.”

“A good name, indeed. Perhaps I should name my grey one, too? I don’t like to give them names. It makes it harder to let go if they get killed in battle. Do you know a good name for the grey? I let you name him if you want to.”

“It’s not about naming horses, I’m upset, Jaime, and you know it. It was your horse, and you made me believe that you rode it to death. Instead, you did an honorable thing and gave it to a septon in need. Why?”

“I did no such thing. I...”

“But the septon told me. He told me everything, about the high-flowing Blueburn, a soul in need, he couldn’t reach, and how the Warrior sent him a gallant knight to help. This knight was you, Jaime. And you never told me! The same with the girls! You let me believe you don’t care about the danger they were in. I despised you. You only shoved coin at them. By the way, do you know how long a woman like Pia had to work for a dragon?”

“Are we talking about honest work? A week maybe?”

“A year, Jaime, a year. You throw your gold around, like my septa her spittle. It means nothing to you. I was so disgusted that you were only giving her money and didn’t care else. Instead, you sent your men after them as protection. Honorable again. Why is it, ser, that your deeds and your words never match? Normally people talk better about themselves as they are. What’s going on with you?”

“A lion doesn't concern itself with the opinion of sheep.”

She gaped at him: “So, I am a sheep, now?”

He tried to appease her, snatched her hand and kissed the inside. The cut had healed nicely: “No, no, my lady wife. You can be angry as a ram, gentle as a ewe, and adorable as a lamb, but you are not a sheep anymore. You are a lioness now!”

She wiped her hand at her breeches: “And what are lions doing with each other?”

“They roar?”

She looked at him sternly, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

She said: “Please stay on topic. Your inane saying about lions and sheep means that you don’t care, what others think about you? It’s good to follow one’s path in life and to shrug off hateful comments. My father always told me that words are wind, a comforting saying, but not the same as what they taught you about lions and sheep.”

“Do I have to explain to a Stormlander, how powerful winds can be? Storms break ships. Cyclones reap forests. Blizzards turns whole villages into ice...”

“A strong keep can withstand them. And stop to parry. At once! We are not discussing the weather. I want to know why you do, what you do. Why do you lead others on? What if they follow the example they think you give?

“I do not care! I shouldn’t care. I’m not allowed to care. My father hammered this into me since I’m s a little boy. So, I don’t care what others tell about me. If they don’t laugh, I don’t care! I don’t want to be a good example! You are one, you make people change. I’m not a good man. I gave my horse to the septon as a jape! Nothing more! The other things I did on the spur of the moment, following your inspiration! Do you want to believe I’m not boastful, not proud? And that’s the reason I stay silent about my honorable deeds? You know little about me if you think I’m humble.”

She smiled sadly: “You certainly are not a humble man. You are very arrogant. But you are allowed to be proud. And it’s certainly not only my influence, but thank you to assume it. And stop lying to yourself, you do care what they think about you. The good deeds are a part of you. They come from within. I’m proud of you. What you did with the horse and the girls, and that you saved me. You acted like a knight should act. And it makes me reconsider all I’ve ever heard about you. I’m sure, it was there before we met. Come, let’s sit. Come to the cot. I have a question to ask, a serious one.”

They took off their boots and sat on the bed. She slung her long arms around him, he leaned into her, then she asked:

“What happened in Kingslanding? Tell me about Aerys, please.”

And so he told her, save in her embrace, while she soothed his hands, his arms, his shoulders with gentle, calming strokes. He told her about the growing paranoia of the Mad King, about how young he was, and how frightened, about the Stark who was roasted in his armor and the stink he could still smell to this day, about the suspicions, the fear, Raella’s screams. He told her about the wildfire, his father at the gate, and the demand to bring the king his father’s head. He told her about the order to light the wildfire caches under Kingslanding, about half a million small folk people who could have died. How he had to act, break an oath, sacrifice his honor.

She looked at him with huge eyes and stayed silent.

He cried: “Say something! Curse me, or kiss me, or call me a liar!”

“I still think you are stupid. But that was the most knightly deed I’ve ever heard of. You sacrificed your honor, your reputation, to save the lives of thousands upon thousands. No one else in the Kingsguard did. Crimson suits you better than white. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“No one ever asked.”

“I did. And I’m grateful you answered.”

She kissed his cheek, again, again. She was kissing off tears he had not been aware of. She pulled him down to the linen. He nuzzled her neck, smelled her, kissed one freckle, two freckles, three freckles... She sighed, and he snorted in the skin her shirt revealed. She giggled and scratched his beard as if he was a naughty kitten, kindly but with tiny tugs. He purred. She laughed, loud and joyful, and shook him off and pulled him down again, hard into her body. Their bodies were too tall for the narrow cot. One arm or a leg was always in the air. He had to watch out not to fall or to shove her. He had to be gentle.

He played with the laces of her shirt, found new freckles to count and kiss, looked up. Her eyes were so blue in the daylight, but the dark of her pupils sucked him in, called him to her face and he kissed her. Her soft lips, the sharp edges of her crooked teeth, her tongue met his, followed it, became greedy.

He had forgotten to breathe, stopped the kiss, and panted: “I want you.” Into her ear.

She swallowed: “We swore an oath in the sept...”

“No, no, no talk about oaths in the bedroom. I don’t want you because it’s my right as a husband. I want you because I want you to be mine, and I am yours. I don’t want you because you are my wife, but because you are you. Do you want me only because I’m your husband?”

She stayed silent and he sat up.

She looked disheveled and bothered, her lips wet and swollen, there was some straw in her hair from the stables. She looked like a wench. He plucked sadly at the straw and said: “Should we stop then?”

Something flitted over her face and she pulled him down again and whispered into his ear: “I don’t want you as my husband, but because you are you.”

The laces of her shirt relented, his breeches came off. It was all in a frenzy. He sucked at her nipples. She pressed her hand into his cock. He snarled, then tried to calm down, counted freckles again, there were so many. He chucked his shirt over his head. Her hands flew to her breeches and he helped her to strip them down together with the underwear, something tore. Good riddance, Pia would do something useful with her time and not coddle Peck.

There she was, more hair, more muscles, more skin. Brienne was so different, she was more. He looked at her whole body, the large feet, the slender ankles, her beautiful knees, legs that were so long he couldn’t stop to stroke them. The thick bush of hair. The strong stomach, the thick waist, the small breast with rosy nipples. And freckles, freckles all over. He ached, it was so hard to wait. A blush crept over her breast, to her face.

She gripped his arms suddenly, pulled him down, kissed his neck, bit him lightly, he growled.

“I like your body. A lot.”

She gasped and went very still.

“What is it? Are you afraid? I try every trick I know that it will hurt as little as possible. I promise!”

She slung an arm over her eyes and said in a small and sad voice: “When you look at me, I’m ashamed. I...I don’t want to be wanton. You are so beautiful. I desire you so. A woman as ugly as me, shouldn’t wish for...”

“Oh shut up!” He swept her into his arms, kissed her much harder than he did before. Sweet ache and desire licked down his spine. It was too fast and too much. She thought so highly of him, if he would hurt her, he could shatter all trust they had gained with a single hasty thrust. He wanted to be the man she believed him to be. 

He stopped it, panting, and she tried to kiss him again.

He said: “No, no... I have to calm down a bit. I’m sorry. I want you so much. It wouldn’t be good today. I should bed you in a proper bed in a proper castle. Not here, in this narrow cot, not so fast, not when sneaky silent brothers could interrupt us at any moment.”

The sobering image of the scowling Elderbrother with his red-veined nose did at least the job to calm his cock down.

“Why? I want it now! I’m ready.” She said huskily, and the image of the Elderbrother vanished instantly.

“You think you are. You can’t imagine how much I desire you. But...” he gulped, “with the woman I was with before, it was always done in haste. Let’s make it different, let it be the first time for me too.”

“You don’t desire me as you desire her?”

“No, no, I did not say that. It’s too much, don’t you understand? I want to do it the right way. I’m in pain with desire. I don’t want to hurt you, please grant me this wish as a good lady wife should do. Let me take care of you how you did the day I lost my horse.”

“You can do that? Just the same?” She sounded very doubtful.

“That, and much more, but perhaps not all of it today.”

“And it will be exactly the same?”

He chuckled: “It will feel the same. I guess. But I’m a man and you are a woman. We will never know. But you will like it!”

“You liked it, when I did it, then?”

“Very much so.”

She asked eagerly: “Should I do it again?"

“Not now, please. Let me take care of you first. Maybe after it, if you want to. I would like that very much. But first, it’s all about you. Please, don’t be craven.”

She guided his hands down. His tanned hands on her milk-white breast, stomach, hips, made him swallow. She pressed her legs tightly together. He traced her gently. She was already wet and smelt like the sea. She whimpered. He retreated and stroked her hips, her breasts, her stomach till she shoved his hands back down. They did this dance, again and again, finally, she opened her legs. He teased, he pressed, he circled, sought entrance. So soft... Her smell and his fingers on her threatened to send him into a frenzy. He looked only onto her face. The blue eyes that watched him intensely then closed in bliss, her teeth pressed into her lip, a fierce crimson on her cheek. She mewled, gasped. Tendons on her neck, tiny wrinkles between her brow, she looked like in a fight, before the final blow.

He leaned to her ear and whispered: “I know that you like it, but you struggle against it. It’s just like when we are with swords. You have to forget about the angle of the sword, the tilt of the shield. You have become one with the weapon. Here it’s the same with me. I’m the weapon you need to feel bliss. One flesh... remember? Just do it. Just let it go.”

He had assumed that she was in bed like she with the sword: loud, strong, and glorious. He had been right. Her release, her relief, it felt like his own.

**********J&B**********  
  


The evening before their departure Jaime and his knights helped the brothers to pull up the new sails for the windmill. He had continued to help them, so had his men without knowing that it was not a condition for their stay. The Elderbrother was a pompous nitwit, but he knew about tourneys. Their arms had become much stronger. And it had done the knights much good to drink water instead of wine and eat apples instead of beef. They had calmed down. They were in a better state to win at Riverrun and to impress their host. Since he shared a cabin with his wife, the needling and teasing on his behalf had stopped, too.

On his way back to the other side of the isle, he stopped to look over the bay. The tide was high, it looked like a proper sea. The stars were already up. There was his new favorite, the Eveningstar, and the Sword of the Morning or the Just Maid, how Brienne called it, was emerging from the horizon. There was no shooting star, this time. He thought about the wish he had made on board of the Sapphire Waters. A woman and a cabin at the sea. If he was honest with himself, it would be like in one of the Hells with Cersei. She had a knack to transform every Heaven into a Hell very shortly. He shook his head, to shove the thought off, and walked to the cabin, he shared with Brienne. He would miss this place. He remembered the second part of his wish, about the blond cubs with wooden swords and smiled.

In front of the cabin, in the dimming light of the dusk, Brienne trained with Peck to bring back the squire’s strength. The wooden swords clanked. The blunt sound made him happier than he ever thought it could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To research it properly I tried to reread AFFC, Brienne VII. I had to stop. I couldn’t stomach Hyle and the Elderbrother’s mansplaining, and I missed Jaime. So I made some stuff up (food etc.) I like GRRM’s landscape descriptions and used some.
> 
> I’ve taken the rest from various internet pages. Septon Bennet was the septon of the Quiet Isle before the Brave Companions raided Saltpans and killed him.
> 
> As I started to post, I expected to get three kudos one out of mercy, the others caused by fat-finger-syndrome. And I prepared myself for comments like “Brienne values honesty. In this spirit: this story sucks.” or “You are really brave to post this! However, bravery can be dangerous, eg don’t charge a dragon. Jaime was saved by Bronn. Let me be your Bronn: STOP!”  
> It’s so sweet that you are reading, cudoing, and commenting despite my bad grammar and my newby mistakes. You make me very happy! Thank you so much! 
> 
> Next: Finally: a first time at Riverrun! I’m talking about tourneys - am I not?


	10. Height

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne’s anxieties, Riverrun, and a melee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I botched the posting of the last chapter. It didn’t show up on the main page and the posting date was not updated. Sorry! Please make sure to read the chapters in the right order and don’t miss chapter 9.
> 
> A shy warning it’s not happily ever after yet, there’s the tag “mutual pining” and I included it for a reason.

Brienne dreaded her reluctance to leave the Quiet Isle. The last days on the island felt like a blissful dream. She tried to look forward to her first tourney, to feel elevated. But there would be a wedding too, with all the accompanying expectations towards her, with judging ladies and hateful men. What would Jaime think about her when he saw her surrounded by noble ladies, dainty women, who knew about their allure?

Brienne spent the last weeks in the company of men who were bound to treat her respectfully. She hardened herself for the glares and sneers she would get. Jaime would see it. He would realize what a disgrace she was as a wife. Before she was wed, she only had risked being shamed at her own expense. Now she would shame him, too.

She was afraid of the letters waiting for them in Riverrun. The outside world couldn’t reach them before. Would the letters bring them to heel? What if Jaime’s woman, he had left behind in Storm’s End, had written to him and lured him back into her clutches?

Brienne was riding at the rear end of the group and looked longingly back at the island that already looked hazy in the misty air. The windmill and the septry were still visible if she squinted, but her cabin, the cabin they had shared for three glorious days, was lost to her eyes forever. She had been at the height of her happiness there, why should she leave?

Pia let her packhorse fall back. The poor girl had to leave her sister behind who had decided to stay on the Quiet Isle.

“Are you sad, that Lia didn’t accompany us?” Brienne asked her and adjusted her seat in the saddle.

Pia shrugged: “Why should I be sad, about things I can’t change? She will like it there, she was never much of a talker. M’lady, I see you sit uncomfortably. Do you need herbs or maybe a cushion?”

Brienne shook her head and tried to fight her blush down. Technically she was still a maid and Pia mustn’t know that.

“So, m’lady, how was your first time? It must have been good, I see it in your face and his. You still scowl, he sneers, but the happy smiles sneak in.”

“It was good, I guess?”

“Good? Why are you avoiding my eyes? Are you lying? What? Speak louder! Speak plainer, I didn’t catch that.”

“We actually didn’t do it.”

Pia gasped: “Maiden’ tits! He didn’t go through? I especially briefed him, I thought I was plain enough about it? I framed it in a storm about lions, to come through. Is he all talk? Has he problems to raise to the task? Sometimes that happens when they are nervous. There are herbs for that problem you know. Or I could show you some tricks.”

“No, no... I don’t think he has a problem, neither do I. He told me we should wait till we share a bed in a castle...”

“Why? As I told you, beds are overrated! You nobles are strange and a castle helps nothing.” She shook her head. “Don’t you want children? There are ways to prevent them. Don’t let a maester talk you into moon tea, though. It sucks...”

Children? The question sent Brienne into a new maelstrom of anxieties she was not prepared for. Could she be a good mother? Did he want to be a father?

She considered berating the servant girl for her insolent questions but didn’t want to stop this well of information that could be useful in the future. So she rained her horse to fall back and whispered: ”He didn’t take my maidenhead, but he touched me.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere?”

Pia swooned: “Ah... at least! Only with his hands?”

Brienne felt the heat all over: “He kissed me, you know... there.”

Pia giggled: “Do you realize that you are quite lucky, m’lady? But if he stays reluctant, then act, seduce him. You miss out on a lot. Should I talk to him, again? I think he values my advice. As you do.” Her gaze became shrewd: “You know, I’m ambitious. At Casterly Rock you could raise me from a handmaiden to the rank of a master-of-beds. Or a mistress? No, that is misleading. And the beds are appropriate for your liking. Master-of-beds has a nice ring to it, hasn’t it?”

**********J&B**********

Brienne was still a maid and yet so much more. She felt like a once-tight flower bud that started to open with surprising relief. It hasn’t been all about the too narrow cot. She kissed him in the orchard, and the midst of hay and straw of the stables, and under the whooshing sails of the windmill. She had only refused to follow him into the sept.

She wouldn’t have been able to share all her wonderment or to explain adequately. Her inner tights were itching, a pleasant itch. How should she have known that a beard, even a soft golden beard, could leave burns when it rubbed along soft skin? Some blemishes around her breasts looked like bruises but didn’t ache. How should she have known that what looked like greedy kisses left traces behind? How could she have known that it was fun to be so close to a man? That there was laughter? Everything was new. She enjoyed how she could make him growl and grab her, to make him nuzzle into her neck to get his locks petted. She enjoyed it, how she could make his... his manhood change, in color and feel. She enjoyed watching his powerful release and to learn the tale-tale signs that it was near. She enjoyed that she had power over him and he over her, that there was no loser in their bouts, but only winners. It was as wonderful to give as to receive.

The physical pleasure blended with pleasures for the soul. There had been silly stories, shared childhood memories, and tentative plans for the future - Casterly Rock first, then Fair Castle, later a visit to Tarth. Then again explorations, kisses, caresses that lead to a race who was faster to bring the other to utter bliss. Sometimes lazy hours of patience and sweet nothings, her hand in the sparse hair of his breast, his hands lazily wandering from here to there, always at the brink for more. 

Their mixed smells lingered in the cabin. She should have aired it more often, but she liked how it left traces in the air and the sheets. 

“That’s how it smells when lions mate,“ Jaime told her and she swatted at him, but was secretly pleased.

First, she had been shy, and Jaime had to show and explain everything, soon enough she trusted her instincts. She did what her body told her to do. It was really a bit like fighting, there were defined stances and drills, but in the spur of the moment, you have to stop to think about them and just let it flow. She trusted her body and his body enjoyed what she came up with.

He was never repulsed by her body. But what if he would be one day? What if he found true love somewhere else or his old love grabbed at his heart? What if he realized that it wasn’t enough with her?

She was becoming greedy, she wanted to have forever what they had shared for three days. And worse, she wanted more. It couldn’t be. Every flower would open one day to full bloom, then one petal would drop, the next one, her happiness would wither away. She didn’t want it to end, she wanted to preserve this flower in eternity on the brink of unfolding. And yet...

She wasn’t exactly sure what she expected more than this and she didn’t share her fears with him, couldn’t find the right words. Surely he would bed her soon. It would be wonderful without a doubt, and she longed for the first night, they would spend a night in a castle. But what would happen then? She wanted more, but couldn’t name it. 

Jaime, who was riding at the front turned around and sent her a dazzling smile. They said that Lann had stolen gold from the sun to brighten his hair. She felt like the moon, a pale lumbering disk in his shadow.

Could she ever be happy again on her own? Had she become weak?

At Riverrun there would be other women and a letter from his lost love. She had to harden her heart to the inevitable. She should feel lucky to have lived those blissful days, cherish them forever, bury them deep down in her heart.

**********J&B**********

They made a halt at the Inn of the Crossroads. It was one of the largest inns in the realm and could house more guests than some castles. The men feasted on pork and beef, Brienne got her first trout, freshly fished from the Trident. Jaime gave her the cheeks from his fish like a gallant knight should do, and she tried to accept them in an aloof manner as a noble lady should.

Jaime said: “Those are the best parts! Believe me! You seem distant, wench. What’s going on? Do you get the jitters? Because of the tourney?” He whispered in her ear “Or because of the bed that awaits us in Riverrun? Rest assured you will excel in both places.”

He pressed his boot to hers, and she clenched her thighs together. It was too tempting to kick him.

“No, no, nothing like that, my lord husband.”

He had a lilt to his voice that irked her: “Why so formal, wench? A day ago I got you squealing in delight. You weren’t calling me lord husband then, but names that sounded like ‘O Jaime’ or “Warrior! Yesss...’ ”

She glared at him. Fortunately, the others weren’t listening or were pretending not to be. She sipped some wine. It tasted sour after she had gotten used to the fresh apple juice on the island.

She swallowed it down and said: “At Riverrun, we should behave as other noble couples do. You shouldn’t call me wench, don’t touch me so often and restrain from making crude japes.”

He arched an eyebrow and uses his best courtly voice: “Gods forbid! They could come up with the wrong conclusion that we enjoy each other! Let’s prevent that at all costs. O, my modest and well-behaved lady wife. I know you think, a lion should concern itself with the opinion of trouts very much. But look they are rather silent!” He poked with his dagger at the fish head in his platter and made it dumbly nod.

She shook her head: “Can you at least try to pull yourself together?”

“Yes, let’s be solemn and stern, my lady wife. From this heartbeat on, we shall discuss exclusively martial and never marital affairs. In this spirit, I inform you what I plan to do at the tourney and seek your valuable and much-desired advice. Broom and I decided I should not attend in the lists, as you know, we will join the melee as a group first. Tomorrow afternoon, when we are at the Red Fork, we will train the formation again. It is rather new for you. You shouldn’t risk too much, don’t expect to win your first try. But my chances are good, I plan to win the flower crown for you!”

She gasped: “No! I don’t want it.”

He flinched: “Why not?”

“Because it’s a lie!”

“What an absurd thing to say. I will win in an honest way!”

“I meant that it would be a lie to crown me as your queen of love and beauty. Look at me! I’m no beauty and it's certainly not love, we share.”

“I do! And you are!”

“Do not mock me, ser. It’s cruel. You will not crown me. Maybe I will win after all! Should I crown you, then?”

“It depends on what you think about me!”

“Why do say such things? Why do you laugh at me? I expected you to be more kind after everything that happened between us. I’m not a beauty and there’s certainly no love between us. If this should become a good marriage in the future, we need trust and honesty. No japs and no lies.”

He gaped at her. Finally, she had him left speechless for once! She shoved her chair back and left the room.

**********J&B**********

After a long time on her own, she heard noises outside the inn’s door. Jaime opened it and lingered on the threshold. His face looked completely different. She inhaled sharply. The foe had reemerged, she had crossed blades with weeks ago at Tarth. His face looked younger but somehow fiercer, all cutting cheekbones and slashing jawlines.

He put a hand to his cheek and asked her: “Do you like it?”

The beard was gone. 

He came inside and started to undress without getting an answer. She pulled her sheets higher. He turned around the chair at the mirror, straddled it, looked into the mirror, first skeptically then pleased, fiddling with his hair. It was shorter, too.

“We shouldn’t look like wildlings if we want to impress the Tullys. I was once almost betrothed to the younger daughter. The sister of the groom.”

“You are telling me this now? Will she be there? What happened?”

“Let’s hope not, but it’s likely. Her elder sister, Catelyn was decent, but Lysa...” he shuddered, “my life took another turn where a marriage was not an option. Let’s not dwell on the past. They had a barber downstairs, you know. It’s strange to see your face again in the mirror.”

She swallowed: “Yes it is. Do I have to wear a dress?”

He stopped cleaning his teeth, extinguished the wax light save one and came over: “Last time I checked there was no dress in your luggage. Take my finest breeches, the suede ones. Your boots will cover your ankles, else they should fit, albeit on the snug side. You and your legs and your ass will make a lasting impression.”

She felt mortified: “I don’t want to make an impression. If I could change my height, I would.”

“Why? I like it, makes kissing easier, I don’t have to strain my neck, you have to.”

“I’m not so much taller!”

“Look, it’s true you are hard to overlook, anyway, why don’t you want to show off?”

“You don’t understand!”

He sat down on the bed. “You don't understand, either, Brienne. Did I hurt you downstairs, at the meal?”

“Did you take off your beard to spite me?”

His eyes brightened: “Did you like my beard? I can grow it back!”

“I didn’t say that I liked it.”

He sighed: “No, you would never tell me. And for the record, downstairs at the meal, you were definitely hurting me.”

She listened to his steady breaths, the occasional snore, and couldn’t sleep far into the night. Why did it hurt him, that she refused to play along with his mockery? They had become something like friends. They respected and trusted each other. Their bodies get along well and were able to ignite a fierce joy. To share a marriage bed wouldn’t be a hardship. Most marriages were built on far weaker foundations. Why couldn’t he be happy with that and let it be in the hopes it would grow? Why did he have to needle her and remind her that one aspect would always be lacking? 

After the hour of the wolf had passed, he swore, pulled her into a tight hug, and mumbled: “Stop the tossing. It’s annoying.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“I have every right as a lord husband to command you to sleep. Be a good lady wife and obey.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I will chastise you?”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

He pinched her hard in her backside, it really hurt, she tried to pay it back, but soon their hands were doing much gentler things.

Afterward, she was on the brink of sleep, when he said quietly: “Brienne, do you remember what I told you about laying siege?”

“The rotten pigs?”

“No, not the pigs. I told you that you can conquer every castle if you take your time. I’m a very impatient man, but if it really counts I can wait. My supply line is always the better one.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know. Let’s stop the negotiations for now.” He yawned. “And let’s sleep.”

**********J&B**********

Riverrun was not huge, but a magnificent castle. The reddish buildings were nestled in the fork of two rivers. They approached it from the western landside, so they hadn’t to ferry their horses over. The Lannister men wore their best attire. Peck was raised to the standard-bearer, Brienne felt the Lannister lion loom over her head and she wished she could ride under her own sigil. The fields around the castle were filled with brightly colored tents, the tourney grounds already prepared and adorned with the merry flags of the attending contestants. They would get lodgings inside, every house would open their gates to host Lannisters, invited or not.

A bridge led over a muddy moat. Jaime, who was riding with her at the front, leaned over to her.

“They can fill the moat with water, so it’s hard to take the castle. They say they have always resources for two years inside. I’m sure I could storm it faster, breach the walls and make them surrender.”

“Besides the water?”

“It’s rather wet, isn’t it? It could ease my entrance, don’t you think?”

He tugged at her fishtail braid, Pia had put much work into it. And she felt that it was already a mess.

“Please behave, Jaime.”

“Always, lady wife, always.”

The Tullys greeted them in the hall. The glances of the gathered people flitted over her form. The Freys, the family of the bride, outnumbered the hosts and Brienne felt the tension between the two families. She couldn’t remember all the names and hoped that they didn’t recognize her shyness and interpreted it as modesty. Jaime did most of the talking. His clipped tone made her uneasy, she had gotten used to the warm rumbling timbre he used toward her and the commanding booming voice he used in fights. She had forgotten that this Jaime was still one of his layers.

He joked with the groom about the plights of marriage, threw some flatteries at his sisters, apologized profusely to Hoster Tully for their late arrival just at the day of the wedding, and thanked them for their hospitality with an over-embellished charm. She was sure they must feel the hidden barbs, almost impossible to nail. Jaime looked rather pleased with himself.

The Lannister men acted not like they were guests but very much at home. They had strutted in with a broad gait, placed themselves in a casual formation behind her and Jaime, put their thumbs in their sword belts or the hands to their hips. Addam made eyes at some ladies. Ser Quenten took the measure of every man in the hall. Swyft locked his hands at the back of his head, spread his arms, and yawned.

Jaime and his men must have acted like that as they claimed Evenfall Hall. Back then, Brienne must have found that annoying, now she was a part of his crowd.

The elder sister of the groom, now a married Stark, offered bread and salt. She was a beautiful woman although she was thick with child. Jaime had called this lady decent to look at! What were his standards? Her auburn hair was shining and her skin looked like it was illuminated from within. She was the picture of the Mother incarnated, and Brienne felt her inadequacy so acutely as never before. Lady Catelyn stayed polite, her lovely features didn’t betray any emotion, but in her blue eyes, there was scorn.

Her sister, lady Arryn, hadn’t such a well-behaved face and she didn’t hold her mouth in check, either. She sneered and said to Bienne: “Ah, the famous bride from the ruby island, who defended her maidenhood with her sword. It’s a pleasure to meet you, lady Lannister. There are already songs about you. You have to tell us more about the surprising treasures of your island and your successes in the yard. Do you plan to join our little swordfight for women? We have one organized in three days.”

Brienne swallowed, Jaime was not at her side but stalked around a stern-looking uncle.

“I never fought a woman. And Tarth is called the Sapphire Island.”

“Sapphires too?” Lisa looked impressed. “And then of course the marble, you know Eyrie, my castle, has a hall of marble. The sept here in Riverrun is made with marble, you have to tell me, whether it’s from your home. It will be very fashionable soon. What the Lannisters touch turns into gold.”

“Sure, my lady, what color has the marble? How are its veins?”

Lady Catelyn brushed invisible lint from her gown and interrupted: “So did you really fight for your freedom against the K... ser Jaime? Why don’t you fight women, lady Lannister? Have you ever gone to court at Kingslanding and talked with my good sister, the Queen? Although you and the Queen seem to prefer other ways of communication than talking.”

Jaime’s saying about lion and sheep seemed suddenly alluring, and Brienne straightened her shoulders.

Lisa tittered: “The sword seems to be a good way to lure in men. The two most eligible bachelors in the realm were seduced with steel. Cat, you have to teach little Sansa how to fight. She will need it for a good match. But, Lady Brienne, considering ser Jaime and his peculiar tastes, your match makes an odd sense, not only money-wise. I will always remember how he came to court me and spent his whole time here needling my uncle to tell him boring war stories. Is he also so eager to hear yours and forgets all about courting and manners?”

Brienne gaped and was sure she looked more like a fish than the two Tully women did.

To her utter relief, Jaime came to her rescue.

Lisa cried after her: “ Will you join us ladies, tomorrow morning after the wedding? We will let our falcons fly in the fields!”

**********J&B**********

Their guest quarters were magnificent equipped, clad in rosewood panels, domineered by a huge bed with carvings of leaping fish on the posts. It must be one of the best rooms in the castle. The sun was reflecting in the rivers that were running beneath them. Golden lines undulated over the reddish stonewalls, in living and moving veins of gold like they were enclosed in a beating heart.

Whom had they driven away from this room? It made her uneasy to steal someone’s bed. Perhaps it had been prepared to be the wedding room? Brienne went to the window and looked at the two rivers that joined each other at the acute angle of the castle. One was reddish colored by the sand of the Western mountains; the other one was blueish and speared lively into the bigger stream. The waters on her left and her right were so different, but only some steps away they blended so seamlessly together, that no one would be able to discern the origin of a palmful of ladled water. A fish jumped out of the water, a splash, it was gone.

“See,” said Jaime, “you already made friends.”

She asked startled: “The Tully sisters? They are not my friends. They are polite because I’m married to you.”

“The plights of being a Lannister, wench. Get used to it!”

He was rummaging in the chest where the servants had already stored their belongings.

“I can’t find my second set of gauntlets. We have to ask Peck. You will need them for the fight. The first thing we do, when we arrive at Lannisport is to get you a decent set of armor.”

She smiled: “That would be nice. But Jaime... these women in the hall. The words they said, were decent, but I know what they were thinking. How they had to suppress their laughter. How they think you must suffer to be married to someone like me.”

He came over, rubbed her arms as if she were cold: “Like you? What do you mean? Like a magnificent warrior? They are jealous.”

“Maybe they are jealous because they don’t think I deserve you. They see me. My face, my body...”

He trailed a finger along her broken nose: “Is it more important what they might think about you? Or what I am saying? I know your stance towards the importance of the options of sheep. But what about fish?”

She smiled sadly and he continued: “The Lannisters were kings once. The Tarths were kings. The Tullys were never. They only rose to become lord paramount because they are quick at changing sides. Watch out tomorrow at the sept, how swift the cloaking will go. The Freys and the Tullys are practiced turn cloaks. Stay true to yourself. Act as a queen would do around them, and you are fine.”

She leaned into him, and he smelt familiar and warm.

He asked: “Are you nervous about the melee? Remember what we discussed. Don’t leave our group till you have to. A melee is a messy affair. You will enjoy it.”

He held her at arm's length and their eyes locked, his eyes were so beautiful and green. He smiled. She caressed his naked cheeks. It felt still very new to the touch, but she would get used to this face too. She nodded bravely, and he took her chin in his hand, stroked it with his thumb, and lifted her head. She had to look down to meet his gaze again.

He asked gently: “Will you wear my favor at the melee? Will you give me yours?”

At this moment someone knocked at the door, after Jaime called, a portly blond woman waltzed into the chamber. She was not young anymore, but you could still see her beauty.

“A sweetling!” She cried. She pulled Jaime into her heaving bosom, planted soft kisses on his cheeks.

He laughed: “Aunt Genna! What a pleasant surprise! What are you doing here?”

Brienne released a breath, she hadn’t been aware she was holding. That was the woman who had been there for him after his mother had died. Her fear about the blond women turned into fondness.

“There’s one advantage to be married to a Frey, lots of fancy wedding to attend. They are so fertile! The late lord Walder isn’t known to come early, but he comes often where it counts. And tomorrow he will let go of another of his many daughters. Poor girl, the groom is soft of heart and soft of head. And a piece of advice, don’t talk about floppy fish at the wedding feast. He is rather sensitive about those.”

She sniggered, Jaime beamed at her and Brienne started to understand where he got his wit from.

Genna reached up and pinched his ear: “You have been naughty and run off. Tywin is not amused, I can tell you. He found you such a good match, a hidden gem, Kevan called her. You are married legitimately in the faces of the Gods. And what do you do? You Run off with her as if you were star-crossed lovers who had to elope. And now you are impolite towards her, have you become a wildling?” She swatted him not very gently at his cheek. “Shouldn’t you introduce me to your remarkable wife?”

She let her gaze travel over Brienne’s lengthy form and lingered on her face. Brienne promptly blushed.

Jaime seemed only joyful: “Of course! Aunt Genna, may I present you the former maid of Tarth, now lady Brienne Lannister, the future lioness of the Rock. I had to fight for her hand, you know! And what a fight it was! Her window guard is famous, and she has a wicked sideway slide. Wench: Genna Frey, my aunt.”

Genna greeted her, and Brienne made an awkward movement between a curtsy and a bow.

Genna said doubtfully: “At least, you seem happy, Jaime. There will be babes. But stop addressing her with slurs.” She poked at Brienne: “But is she a mute or dumb or simply shy? Girl, a lioness has to roar!”

“Don’t worry. She makes enough noise if I make her. Brienne, say something!”

Brienne sent him a pleading look and asked: “What?”

Genna shook her head at Jaime: “She needs to get used to us. She will learn. But girl, where’s your dress? What do you plan to wear to the wedding?”

She fussed with Brienne’s jerkin.

Jaime said proudly: “She rides in the melee with us!”

“What? Are you mad? What if she loses her babe?” She waggled a finger at them both and Brienne feared for her ear.

“Don’t fret, Genna. It’s only a tiny melee against Freys, Tullys, and their bannermen. She will knock them down as other ladies swat flies. Look how tall she is and how strong! It’s different for us than with other couples. We need some swordplay to get your juices flowing.”

Genna burst out in laughter: “Too many details! I try to trust your fighting experience, though. And I’m pleased you got a strong wife. You need someone to hold you in line.” She turned to Brienne and took her hand. Genna’s hand was soft and fat and small, but it felt like she and not Brienne nor Jaime held all the power in the room.

“We have to talk a lot, dear. Maybe at the wedding dinner? And we have the whole way back to the Rock. I and Emmon will travel with you. But before I forget! Here are the ravens that arrived for you two! I collected them from the rookery and kept them safe.”

She pulled a bundle of letters out of her deep cut buxom neckline. The top letter was addressed to Jaime in a slanted female hand.

**********J&B**********

To fight in a group was confusing. For a long time, Brienne did nothing but hold her mare in check. The dreadful letters were waiting in their room. She had been able to convince Jaime to break the seals later. Would the letters he got from this woman change everything?

All around her were Lannisters, she couldn’t use her sword. Brienne wore Jaime’s favor buried under the gauntlet he had lent her. Her favor adorned his wrist boastfully like a blue and rosy cut over steel. Men cried, horses screamed, they moved from one corner of the tourney ground to the next. She tried not to get her leg pressed against the fence. She itched to use her sword, to do something. She was at her best as a fighter. Why was her sword still sheathed? To wait was cruel, but they had to stay in a group until more competitors were taken down and there was space to move. She hoped that she and Jaime wouldn’t be the last men standing, she didn’t want to give the wedding guests a show. It felt as intimate and embarrassing as a bedding.

Suddenly a gap opened in front of her and she pressed her horse to run through. Now she was at the fringe of the group. A Lannister knight cried after her, but she couldn’t stop herself anymore. She couldn’t bear to wait. She needed to do something.

Over there stood an imposing knight. Just the right one to test her mettle. He was almost as tall as she was. She jumped from her horse and drew her sword. She couldn’t see his face behind the helmet, but there was a black fish on his shield. Was he one of the Tullys? She took him on and he answered. His footwork was not as swift as a young man’s, but his stances and attacks were honed to perfection. She tried some of the twirling attacks Jaime had taught her, he shrugged them off but pressed on harder. Had he held back, because she was a woman? She attacked as fierce as she could, he dodged, then he used a breathtaking riposte. She went in a fool’s guard. He fell for her trap but could save himself, by adjusting in a blink of an eye. Suddenly he tripped, a slip on the muddy ground, ser Benedict had warned them about. He fell. She could make him yield now. But what for? To win a flowery crown? To admit to Jaime that he was beautiful and that she loved him? Everyone would laugh, including him. It was more important for her to beat this knight fairly, not because the ground was not on his side. She squatted, extended her hand, he screamed hoarsely. A clang, a push, a fierce pain slashed through her head. All went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some research on Westerosi economics. To be honest, the subject is difficult to comprehend. Some aspects don’t make sense. In a very unimportant behind the scene plot of this story, there are some economical and possible schemes. Please don’t read too much into it. I’m here for the romance. I hope you are, too!  
> I could include much more about the Freys and Tullys, but I think the Lannisters are so more interesting. I guess that’s fine.
> 
> Next: the aftermath of the melee. And Edmure’s wedding night (very likely not the main point of view)


	11. White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the melee, and a wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once, this chapter has both POVs. Therefore, it is much longer, it felt fitting to have both views combined. To research it properly I tested the iridescence of soap bubbles in candle-light. Yes, you can see their colors. The rest is poor fantasy and NSFW.

Incandescent rage surged through Jaime. Brienne had fallen. One of the Freys had attacked her from behind and smashed his sword at her helmet. He spurred his grey to her. Should he kill the coward or look after her first? When he reached her, the Blackfish had already dealt with the weasel who alternately clutched at his gut and his balls. The Tully removed Brienne’s helmet, there was no blood, her huge blue eyes were open.

Jaime cupped her ashen cheek gently: “Brienne, sweetling, Brienne...”

She groaned, relief flooded through him.

Brienne asked: “What happened? Where am I?”

“On a tourney field, you took a blow against your head. Everything will be fine.”

Ser Brynden helped her up into a sitting position and checked her head. He said hoarsely: “You are right for once. She will be fine. You are a lucky bastard, couldn’t stop babbling as a squire, proofed your lack of worth later. And now you got her. This gal has honor. Take her to the castle. I will deal with the scum.”

Jaime scowled, but kept silent and nodded. He put one arm under her knees and the other one behind her back and scooped her up. Brienne protested and he hushed her. She was heavy but he would manage. His knights built an aisle. No one bothered him on his walk through the tourney field. He pressed her tighter against his chest. At the fence, Peck was already waiting for them with a maester who checked her over. He was not overly concerned but wanted to examine her closer in their chamber.

Their somber procession made it to the portcullis, there Brienne stirred again, clutched confusedly at her head, and asked: “Jaime? Where am I? What happened?”

“An asshole knocked you down from behind. The maester says you should get well soon.”

She struggled in his arms. He staggered and had to adjust his grip.

“Stop it!”

Her cheeks became blotchy red, and he fought hard not to kiss her.

“I’m too heavy! Ask for help. Or I can try to walk on my own.” Instead of kissing, he stroked her knee with his hand. Not easily done, his back started to hurt.

“Don’t you dare! I’m strong enough. I don’t let you go, now.”

She relented. It put an additional strain on his back, to carry her upstairs, and his legs felt wobbly after he placed her into the bed.

“I thought about throwing you into this bed, but under different conditions.”

It worried him, that she wasn’t protesting, not even clicking her tongue. The maester scowled, though. Peck helped to take off her mail, then Jaime sent him back to watch the rest of the melee. Some maids hurried in with food and ale, lit the fire, the maester ordered honeyed willow bark tea.

The maester fussed over Brienne, put a wet cloth on her forehead that effused a sharp herbal smell, and made her drink dream-wine.

Then he berated Jaime to let her be this day. She was forbidden to attend the feast, and someone should watch over her permanently, Jaime should call for a maid, while he was at the wedding. The maester would visit tomorrow again if something looked worrying like she had to vomit, her headache got worse or she bled from her nose, they should send after him immediately. Then he scurried away to attend the broken bones and bruises that the melee would produce.

Brienne was sleeping, now and then disrupted by a moan or a toss. He tried to make her drink the bitter tea, the maids had brought, he managed to give her some tiny sips. He wetted a new cloth and pressed it to her forehead. She sighed but slept deeply. He let her hand go, it was too hot and he took off his mail, but let Brienne’s favor be. He put his hands in the small of his back and stretched. He opened the windows, wandered around, and scowled at the room’s fishy decor. Out of spite he took his old dagger and notched the bedpost, just behind a fat trout’s gills. That was for all the harm they had caused them.

He stroked Brienne’s cheek, put a finger lightly to her succulent lip. Was there a trace of a smile? Her dream must be pleasant.

Again her life had been at risk. It was all his fault. He didn’t prepare her enough for the melee. He had talked her out of using a morningstar. He didn’t buy her a better helmet. If he hadn’t avoided Kingslanding, they could have gone to the street of steel. He should have watched out for her in the melee. One heartbeat she was at his side, the next she was gone. Since when has she become so brash? His negative influence, surely. He always forgot that she didn’t get a proper squire’s training. Her fighting style was excellent, but she was simply too honorable and forgot that others weren’t. Her courteous gesture to Brynden Tully could have cost her health and life. Her honor was the very thing that made her so special, one day it could lead to her downfall. How should he take it from her? He wished he could simply forbid her to risk her life, as other husbands would do. However, that would destroy every bond between them. He thought about all the wives who were forced to watch their husbands ride off into battle. He had to learn to live with this fear as if he was a woman. And he would have to bear a man’s fear, too. He wanted to have children, as soon as possible. He hoped she would agree.

From outside the noises of crashing steel, neighing, shouts, and music was wafting into their room. It felt very far away.

He drank a cup of weak ale, walked from one corner to the next, stopped at Brienne’s bed rest. Then on one walk back to the table, he saw the letters, they had left there. They were unpleasant for sure, but the distraction would take off his mind. He sat into one of the high and uncomfortable chairs at the fire, flinched from the strain in his back, and broke the first seal. Tyrion had sent him an ugly doodle of a woman in a crude dress and with a sword, knighting a man who kneeled at her feet. The text was short, the request to come back soon, keep an ear out for political rumors, and some hushing, not to send them by raven. What did Tyrion expect to learn? The realm was at peace. There were not more interesting rumors to gather than the usual quarrels between the Riverlanders and the great anticipation that King Rhaegar had composed a special titillating glissando for his harp. 

Father’s letter was according to his standard almost warm. He was pissed off, which was good, and requested that Jaime should buy corn from the Riverland’s lords. This was an odd assignment. The granaries in Casterly Rock were full, as far as Jaime knew, and there were no signs of a coming winter. At least it showed that his father, saw him fit to do lordly things, and Jaime felt almost flattered by the letter. He had to ask Lewys Lidden to help him. The old badger was a better haggler than Jaime and far more interested in planning supply chains. His father demanded children. Jaime considered refusing to spite him. But to counteract everything that his father dictated him to do, was no way to live one's own life.

He went back to Brienne and tried to make to drink her some willow tea again, most flow over her chin and he cleaned her face with his sleeve, carefully avoiding to sully the favor. He tucked her into the soft fox furs they had laid on the end of the bed.

Then he went back to the fire. Three letters were awaiting him. He had spared to the end. The different ways Cersei had written his name on the covers, told him everything about her anger, her jealousy, and ultimately her pleading. A very short time ago, a letter from her would have meant so much joy, to get three letters at once was unthinkable. Now he dreaded to break the seals. When he had served as a Kingsguard, she had written more than sparsely. Had she written more, if she knew back then, that her letters helped him to survive long weeks and soothed many a sleepless night? He had known them all by heart. Had Cersei entertained other men, even back then? He didn’t even want to know.

He held Cersei’s three letters in his hands, turned them over, and felt nothing. 

He listened to Brienne’s steady breaths and felt too much to name it and had to fight the urge to hurry to her bed again and watch over her sleep.

What would it change, if Cersei scolded him? What if she wrote sweet loving lines? What if she agreed to run off with him? He looked at Brienne, who slept peacefully, without knowing what he was holding in his hands. Brienne, who was equally a joy to cross blades with and to share kisses. Brienne, who believed him to be an honorable knight. Brienne, who had asked him, why he had slashed the Mad King’s throat. 

Jaime was sitting for a long time at the fire and pondered. The flames licked, logs popped, sparks flew.

He thought about all the times he had wished for nothing more than to touch his lover, to touch Cersei, whenever they wanted to touch, to share a night with her, to make plans for the future. He had pleaded with her several times to make it a reality, and she always refused. Now another, who allowed everything, was sleeping only nine steps away. 

Brienne mumbled something. To know her safe and close and protected by him, made him feel warm and fluttery, he enjoyed what they had and yearned for more. Every fool could name, what he was feeling. It was called love.

Brienne still didn’t relented to him, but he was sure she liked him much more than at the time they first met. And even if he could never bring her to share his feelings, he could try to make her happy at least. And he was sure he would succeed with that. 

Someone pounded at the door. He stood up, threw Cersei’s letters into the fire, and opened.

“Kingslayer!” the knight said and his craggy face looked taunting. How long ago had it been, that an eager squire couldn’t think of a sweeter way to spend his time than to listen to this smoky voice recounting his heroic exploits. 

Jaime bowed and nodded: “Ser Brynden. How did it go?”

As a squire, he had hung at his lips, and the older knight had enjoyed his attention. Now he hated Jaime, and he had the sudden urge to explain everything and to gain his approval back. 

The Blackfish asked: ”How is she?”

“The maester says she will get well soon, he got her dream-wine to sleep it off.”

Tully nodded curtly, shoved a flower wreath into Jaime’s chest, and said: “For your wife, Lannister. She earned it. I never wanted to marry. She never wanted to marry. But I was not forced, to fight for my freedom. She has a good heart and a good hand for the blade. It’s not difficult to envision how you won her hand, how you tricked her into losing. The short bout we could exchange told me everything. She would be a better knight than you ever were.”

“I certainly agree, ser. Thank you, on her behalf, for the crown.”

Jaime took the flower wreath, laid it gently beside Brienne’s head, and turned to shove the door into the Blackfish’s face. But he was already gone.

**********J&B**********

Brienne opened her eyes and was confused. The rushing sounds and her dreams and the soft sheets had her make-believe she was at home. No, it wasn’t the waves of the sea and the smell was not the smell of her old home. It smelt like flowers and Jaime. It smelt like leather and mail, and this musky smell, when he... had he done something naughty? Whiteout her?

She turned her head. It was dark outside, a low fire was gleaming in the herd, and candles were illuminating the room. Jaime was sleeping peacefully beside her, he was turned on his side towards her, a flower wreath on his head. Her heartbeat became faster. On every other men’s head, it would have looked like a joke. Not on him. He was pretty as the Maiden, but still so much a man. She was watching the gentle fall and rise of his chest, the fluttering eyelashes that threw shadows on his high cheekbones, the golden locks that were spilling out from under his crown.

Had Jaime won the melee? She couldn’t remember much from it. What had happened after she extended a hand to the knight with the black fish as his sigil. Had she been hit?

She held out a hand towards Jaime but didn’t dare to touch him. She was still wearing his favor. He was wearing hers. He had crushed some of the flowers. The crown was slightly askew. It made her feel so tender she felt like melting, like on the brink of weeping.

She shook her head lightly there was no pain, but she felt dizzy and her skin was tingling. Had they slipped something into her drink? On her tongue was a bitter-sweet taste. She felt gingerly for the back of her head, there was a bump, so the blow had happened.

Jaime stirred a little, a hint of a smile on his lips. She was suddenly overwhelmed with feelings, felt at peace, cheerful, and excited at the same time. Memories rushed back in. He had carried her back, he had taken care of her, he had stayed. How could she not love such a man? She was just a woman after all. He looked so... he had done wonderful things in the past and for her. He had done bad things too, and he was arrogant. But how could she not forgive him? She now understood the root of his arrogance. It had the same cause as her shyness. He did everything to fight her insecurities; she wanted to do the same for him. It was love. It was very likely, he would never be able to feel the same as she did. But she could spend her whole life to turn his life into a good one. Wasn’t that a just cause for a wife?

They rested in a real bed with a huge canopy, finely carved posts, and thick furs. A bed that was standing in a fine castle that could withstand a siege. He told her he wanted such a place to make her his wife. Was tonight the night they would finally become one flesh? She was nervous and happy and excited at once.

But there was time, he was sleeping so peacefully. She could spend hours watching Jaime sleep like that. It was hard to withstand the longing to touch him, though. She wanted to stroke his hair and trace the raspy hints of a new beard that was growing on his cheeks. Brienne was deep-buried under some reddish fur, he was laying above them in a loose white shirt and thin linen breeches. She let her gaze wander over his form and wished him naked. The thought made her even hotter. How she longed to see the chiseled stomach muscles, the strong legs and his... and his cock. Was it already? It can happen in sleep. She quickly averted her eyes.

She was sweating and felt wet between her legs, but didn’t dare to chuck off the furs. She felt thirsty and hungry but didn’t know whether for drink and food or for him.

She could hear the faint tunes of gentle music. That must be the wedding. She was relieved she didn’t have to attend it, at least the blow had spared her that. Shouldn’t Jaime go, though? He had the legs of a dancer.

Suddenly he laughed and opened his eyes, a dark glitter in the dim light: “You have been watching me, wench, admit it!”

“No, no, I’ve just woken up.”

He reached over and but let his hand hang in the air: “How’s your head?”

“The headache is gone, but there is a bump and I feel fuzzy.”

“Maybe from the blow, but the maester gave you dream-wine, so it’s also likely that. Are you hungry or thirsty? They brought some things from the feast.”

“I’m hungry, I’m thirsty.” Her voice was husky and sounded strange in her ears.

He looked at her oddly but was rising. She sat up and grabbed his arm quickly, a jolt went through her flesh. Had he felt the same?

“Don’t go yet.”

“But I have to feed you!”

“I don’t long for food, I long for you.”

He laughed nervously: “I probably shouldn’t make a jape right now about the effects of blows to the head?”

He looked adorable and boyish, she didn’t felt resentment, nor insulted and said: “Mayhaps it set my head straight. I know what I want, and I ask you for it.”

He lowered his body to hers, the wreath slipped and fell into her face.

Jaime cried: “O, I forgot! I pilfered it from you! It’s yours. You had a secret admire at the melee! I couldn’t win it for you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t revenge you, yet. This sodden Jammos Frey is banned from tourneys, that is sure. And I’m bound by bread and salt not to start a slaughter at the wedding. My men and even some Tullys took care of the Frey scum on the ground. But it’s not enough and Lannisters always...”

“Stop it! You shouldn’t act on it. Accidents happen. It was a tourney. I didn’t watch out. But who brought me the crown?”

“The Blackfish, the Tully uncle you crossed swords with. You gained the approval of a great knight. As a squire, I admired him very much and now he admires you.”

“He won the melee, then? Why not crown one of his nieces or the bride? It would have been the right thing to honor the host.”

“He thinks you the worthier recipient.”

Jaime placed the flower wreath on her head. She wanted to shake it off immediately, but he looked so content, as he caught her eyes, she couldn’t deny him this pleasure.

“You had many visitors while you were sleeping. Genna showed up with a dress for you and a dressing-down for me. Pia and Peck dropped in. They have become rather close, don’t you think? Addam and Lydden, then even Catelyn Tully. I was very busy entertaining them all.”

Brienne was embarrassed that so many had been worried about her and said: “That’s touching.”

“You are not badly hurt, are you? Should I call for the maester?”

“No, I feel good. Come to me.”

He blushed and stood up and winced slightly.

“Let’s eat first!”

Why was he so evasive? Did he feel nervous? More nervous than her? This thought was endearing. She followed him readily to the table by the window to drag him back to the bed. There was a throbbing pain and felt for the bump on her head. The crown perched gingerly on her head. Although she must look ridiculous, it didn’t bother her. The table was filled with good food; she was really hungry and reconsidered. His stomach grumbled, so she had to get him fed, too.

Jaime asked: “It must have gone cold now. Should I call for new food?”

“There must be enough fuss in the kitchen already. I’m sure it tastes as delicious as it looks.”

He put some new logs in the fire, then cloaked her so that she shouldn’t get cold. He pulled out a chair for her, filled her goblet with summer wine, and offered her the best pieces of pine wood smoked pike, in saffron marinated trout, and lamprey pie spiced with mint.

“O, you have to try this!”

“I think I prefer the venison.”

Nevertheless, he took it readily from her dagger. Brienne suddenly realized how this scene would look from the outside. She didn’t blush, there was no one there to watch.

He asked: “How is your head?”

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

The faint dizziness had gone with the food.

“Thanks to the Gods!”

She asked: “Why are you not going to the wedding?”

“Without you? I wouldn't knight with whom I should dance. I’ve attended enough weddings for a lifetime. Everyone gushes over the bride’s white wedding dress, if there are mothers left, they cry. There are boring speeches and bawdy jokes...”

“I thought you like those!”

He winked at her: “And you like me? No, I only enjoy the good jokes, the ones that I made. I don’t wish to spend my time at this wedding. And why should I want to disrobe the bride on her way to the bedding and let you do the same with the groom? You might even fall for him when you tear off his clothes.”

“I don’t think that would happen. But you could fall for the naked bride.”

He shook his head: “I have a sweeter one, waiting in my bed. And she is stronger.”

Fierce excitement rushed through her.

“Now?” she asked. Her own boldness thrilled her almost as much as the knowledge of what would come soon.

He asked: “What?” But the slightly panicked expression on his face betrayed that he got her meaning completely.

“You don’t want to? We have a bed in a castle, there are no silent brothers stalking us. You said...”

He took her hand very tenderly, his was a bit wet: “You had a serious accident! The maester told me to treat you with care!”

“I know what kind of care I need.”

“Yes, I will call for a bath. And don’t forget there are letters for you.”

The letters... she felt drenched in ice-cold dread. Were they causing his elusiveness? Had she totally misinterpreted his shy smiles and blushes?

She had problems catching her breath and asked strained: “Tell me about your letters first. What have they written to you?”

“I got one from my brother one from my father.”

“There were more letters.”

“I couldn’t read the rest; they fell into the fire. An accident. It happens.” He sent her a tentative smile.

A heavy weight dropped from her heart, she could breathe freely again.

“What have they written to you? And your sister didn’t she pen a letter to you? You seemed close at Storm’s End.”

He averted her gaze: “Let’s not talk about my sister. Why spoil this lovely night? My father’s letter was according to his standards almost a love letter. At least he trusts me enough, to perform a task for him. I have to buy wheat from the fish, like an errand boy. Oh, and... my father greets you and hopes you are well. Come, I show you my brother’s letter, he drew something.”

He stood up, winced again, had he gotten hurt in the melee?

Tyrion’s odd letter was short and sounded half desperate, half cunning. His doodle was rather ugly and showed a gigantic woman beating a crude sword at a man who was kneeling at her feet.

Brienne huffed: “Why is she slashing at him? She has all the advantage, and he is vulnerable, this woman has no honor. I hope this shouldn’t picture me.”

“My brother is not a good drawer, but she is clearly knighting him! He is unarmed.”

Brienne said: “That’s not true. There’s a hilt.”

He took the letter and squinted at it: “Err... I don’t think it’s a hilt. But let’s grant him the benefit of the doubt. It’s symbolic. My clever brother likes things like that." He grinned. “In some way, I look forward to the day when you two finally meet. In some aspects, you are very different, in others very alike. But look at your letters, now! I call for a bath.”

She read the letter from her brother first, then the one from her father. They were both touching but written to a girl who had gone. She hadn’t visited as many septs, as her father expected. She had lit a candle in the Quiet Isle’s sept, but only on the altar of the Warrior, not on the one of the Mother how her father wished her to do. Her family believed her to be on her way to a proper marriage, to become a lady with children. They accepted her fighting, but in their words, it sounded like a silly thing she did for leisure, something she took on a whim and could discharge as soon a worthier duty called. Jaime was understanding her better, accepted her to be just like him. And hadn’t he done that almost as soon as they had crossed blades in the yard?

The maids carried a huge bathtub into their chamber, a stool for supplies, and rows of buckets of steaming hot water. Brienne and Jaime sat by the merry fire and put their heads together. She read her letters to him in a hushed voice. Some parts were not meant for the Tullys.

“I like your brother’s letter. And I hope his greetings to me are earned. Let’s hope he comes to visit soon. Is your father always writing in this tone? He must love you dearly."

“There was not much need to write letters before I married you. But I know he loves me, although I’m not sure whether he knows who I am.”

“My father doesn’t love me but knows me well enough. It’s not much better this way.”

“Do you want to show me his raven?”

“Better not. How does it make you feel that my father seems to turn Tarth upside down? That he put your father into a new rank. My father changes everything he touches. Now he transforms your home.”

“I can’t say exactly how I feel about it. In some ways, my home changed the day, I set foot on the Sapphire Waters with you. It would never have been the same anymore. Always a bit smaller, a bit duller. I prefer the home I remember. And the changes your father seems to inflict on the people of Tarth don’t seem too bad, do they?”

“Let’s hope for the best.”

A timid maid came to them, curtsied, and said: “M’lord, m’lady. The bath is set. Do you need further help? Should we carry the food away?”

Jaime waved her off: “We can manage, and no, leave it be, mayhaps we get hungry again later. Go now and enjoy the feast.”

As the servants opened the door, Brienne was startled by the commotion in the corridor.

Jaime said: “There’s the bedding. You can still go and tear Edmure’s clothes off if you want.”

She shook her head: “I have another groom, I want to see naked.”

He sent her a dazzling smile: “Do you want to bath first? Or should we try it together? Decide quickly we don't want the water to go tepid.”

“Aren’t we too big to share it?”

“Let’s try out!”

For some heartbeats they stood opposite each other, frozen in time and no one begun to move. Then someone shouted in the corridor: “Hurry up!”

Jaime took her hand, pulled her close, and kissed her. First, it was very chaste and slow. He kissed her cheek and whispered into her ear: “Do you remember how angry I was at our first fight? That you were so patient and passive and deflected all my slashes? Never initiated an attack on your own? I was aroused. Because I knew, when your attack would finally come, it would be glorious and you would knock me down.”

She pulled his hair roughly, aligned their lips, nipped him in his lower lip, he opened his mouth and she kissed him hard. He bucked his groin into her hips and growled. A wave of wanting wooshed through her veins. She felt dizzy and sure and shy and bold. She ended the kiss in confusion. The flower crown fell to the ground, and he scooped it up, wincing again, and placed it on the stool beside the bath.

She jerked him to her, tore at his shirt, he helped her to pull it over his head, it fell on the floor. Her hands flew to his fly. His nestled at her shirt, she stripped her breeches off. They stood naked, apart from their favors. They smiled and undid it for the other. Then he took her hand, led her to the tub and she stepped in. The hot water felt wonderful, she quickly sat down and it sloshed over the brim. 

“O no! The nice wood.”

“The Tullys will know how to deal with water stains. It comes with the kingdom. Move over! No, lean back, I want to sit in front of you.”

He stepped in, facing away from her. She watched his legs, his backside lower down, the smooth golden skin, then he pressed his back against her breasts, his ass against her core, and leaned his head against her shoulder.

“Wash me, will you?”

She bit his earlobe very gently, but took the soap and a sponge and gathered foam. She poised her hand in his hair, weaved through the thick strands, caressed his face, gathered buds, stroke over the planes of his muscular chest, lathered his sternum, felt his fast heartbeat, traveled to the stomach, the knees that fitted perfectly into her hands, the parts of his legs that protruded out of the water and the parts that were submerged. She shoved him forward, to clean his back and dug her palms into his skin. His and the clean soap smell mixed. Lavender, lie, and musk made it difficult to stay on track, not to abandon the task at hand.

He leaned into her hands and hissed: “A bit lower, yesss.”

She did and dug harder, worked out the tender spots.

He groaned: “I could get used to this. I married well.”

It was mesmerizing to listen to his muffled groans, to watch the ridges of his spine, the skin that shimmered golden streaked with bubbly white, her hands that spanned over his rips and left glittering soapsuds in their wake.

“Brienne...”

She kissed him on his shoulder blade.

“The letters...”

“What about them?” She asked strained.

To her relief, he clarified: “Your brother and father, and also mine... they have certain expectations. What do you think about them?”

She huffed: “What do you mean?” She kneaded harder, he winced.

“We have to discuss this now. Before... Look, they expect us all to have children. I don’t care about my line and heirs. If you don’t want to have them, yet or later. I can try to make it less possible. We can ask a maester for help.”

She stopped to touch him: “You don’t want children? With me?”

He sat straight and looked over his shoulder: “Of course I want children! They will be great fighters! We can teach them. It will be fun. Or at least for me. But it’s more for you. What do you think about motherhood? Between becoming children, you could still train with me. We could go to tourneys together or organize ours. I don’t think that should be a problem. And we have enough wet nurses, servants and septas and maesters around, there would be plenty of time for you to do other things. We are no small folk.”

In his words it sounded so easy, it kindled her yearning to care and protect. And to make a little one’s life happier and easier than hers had been. She saw herself adjusting the grip of a tiny hand on a wooden sword. But why was he assuming she would abandon her duties and leave their children into the care of servants and dubious septas?

She asked: “You think I couldn’t be a good mother?”

He turned his head, he looked funny with all the suds on his head, she continued her kneading: “Hogwash. I can remember the last time someone was so caring with me as you are.” He looked away. “The last person who was so gentle with me was my mother. I was a small boy... but you see, motherhood is dangerous. I don’t want to fear for your life.”

“I’m no craven. And I was told I have wide hips.”

He gripped hers, and she heard the smile in his voice: “Yes you have. You would be a great mother, but do you want them, and when yes now or later?”

“We would train them on your own? Also girls?”

“Especially, the girls.”

“We wouldn’t give them to a cruel septa?”

“Never.”

She said simply: “Then yes and now.”

He shuddered and pressed his ass harder into her and she bucked against him. She smiled into his neck, reached deeper and took his hard cock into both hands and stroke him.

“Oh, oh... but not so fast. I want to wash you first. He turned around and put his head underwater. Kissed her leg, came up, leaned on the other side of the tub. Their legs were difficult to place and in a tangle, she giggled and he shook his head, so the drops flew everywhere.

“You are gross!”

“Do you like it? Now, let me!”

She tilted her head and said slowly: “No, wait. Watch me.”

His eyes widened and his throat worked. She started to clean her hair, her arms, her breasts, like she would do on her own, but with unusual care and generosity. This bath hardly had enough space for her and Jaime, there was no room left for self-hatred and shame. His breathing became labored. Under his gaze every common touch that she had practiced thousands of times before turned into something more. Her freckles didn’t look like stains she had to scrub off but like adornments, she wanted to polish. Watching herself through his eyes brushed the shame off and left raw need behind. The rough calluses on her hands, the creamy soapsuds awakened her senses. Her skin was tingling and the light golden down on her arms rose. Every sound and feel and touch were heightened. She didn’t felt like a new person, but as she had discovered a facet that had always been there, as delicate and precious as the opalescent soap bubbles that were gliding on the water. Her hands slipped under the water and she bit her lip to prevent a moan from escaping.

Suddenly he grabbed her leg and took her heel into his mouth. She shrieked, it tickled.

“Come, let’s finish this quickly. It’s torture to watch.”

She smiled: “In this case, it’s no torture to see you in pain. But yes, let’s quicken this up.”

In the corridor, they sang a lurid song, and she felt sorry for the freshly wed couple. Her night happened only on their terms. There was no pressure, expectations, or scrutiny, only them.

They cleaned themselves with the brisk efficiency of practice warriors. Then he helped her up, a knight with his lady, and wrapped her into one of the towels the maids had provided. She let her gaze wander over him; he was dripping wet and as ready as she felt. She scooped her hair into a quick wet bun and walked back to the bed. He followed with a goblet of summer wine and the flower crown.

He offered her the wreath and asked huskily: “Will you wear it?”

“We will crush it. I had flowers in my hair on my wedding night. It looked ludicrous.”

“It looked cute and they brought us luck. Indulge me, please.”

She relented, and he joined her on the bed, sat the wreath reverently on her head. With a brisk move he tore her towel off, and she lowered herself back into the bed, slightly raised on her arms. He followed her halfway and panted into her neck: “I desire you so much... I can’t tell you.”

“Show me!”

He grabbed her sides and stroked his hands roughly over her ribcage, pressed them into her breasts, the thumbs caressed her nipples, stroke over her waist, her hips. She raised them to meet him, but his fingers’ touch turned into a butterfly’s as they brushed over her center.

He whispered: “You are very wet...”

“I just bathed.” she deadpanned.

“I meant...”

“That was a joke.”

He looked startled and laughed his rich and deep laugh.

He beamed at her: “Don’t gloat! I admit freely that was funny.”

“Have I ruined the mood?”

He lowered himself, over her body. She opened her legs to accommodate him. He was heavy and pressed her against the sheets and the furs. She felt not trapped, but sheltered and safe. She felt his heartbeat and was sure he felt hers. His lips were on her neck, his hands on her shoulders, and then she felt him hot and wanting, twitching against her. Did she feel his need or hers, or had they made this need together?

He breathed: “Mood is still good. Do you want me?”

She couldn’t wait any longer and told him tautly: “Please!”

He reached down again, but she caught his hand and squeezed it: “Please. I want it now.”

He didn’t follow through but let his hard cock glide over her center, till it left her whimpering. Then he reached down again, and she felt the tip of his cock at her entrance. It felt foreign. She prepared for the pain. She would be too tight! It wouldn’t work.

The cords on his neck were bulging, his breathing was labored, but he stopped immediately and stroked her face like he would pet a spooked horse.

“Relax, wench, sweetling. We can wait if you want.”

He caught her gaze; his pupils were huge, and he bit at his lip. Was she hurting him? Then she realized that this was not pain but lust. It felt heady to know and made it simple. He intertwined his hand with hers. She opened to him, and he glided deeper. She stretched, she was stunned to feel no pain. It felt exquisite and irritating at the same time. She had never felt something like this before. It didn’t feel like an intrusion, as she had expected, but as an addition that was difficult to cope with. A place was filled she hadn’t been aware of being empty. She made a startled movement with her hips, half to shake him off, half to draw him closer. He answered her bucked with a quick hard thrust. It sent a white spark through her core, and she gasped.

“I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”

For some heartbeats, she didn’t know what to answer, and he began to retreat. She grabbed his buttocks quickly and said: “No, no, do it again.”

He did it more lightly this time, smiled tenderly at her, and asked: “Do you like it?”

She nodded quickly and closed her eyes. The new feeling was overwhelming, she had to get used to it. His smell, the shallow breaths, the tickle of his chest hair against her, the weight of his body, the smooth glide of his cock. The pressure was building... it felt a bit like when he pleasured her with his mouth and his hands, but also completely new. She let her hands wander over his body, traced ridges, and plains. She opened her eyes, and he was smiling at her.

“You have the most beautiful eyes.”

She suddenly needed more friction and bucked again. 

“You want more?”

She dug her fingers into his ass again and nodded.

“Move with me.”

He thrust more forcefully, and she learned how to answer. It felt wonderful to do it together, to give and take.

He kissed her quickly and mumbled: “Whit this kiss I pledge my...” had he almost said love? Or was he mocking the rites in the sept? There was no time to worry or hope. The pressure was almost too much, she yearned a release. They became more urgent.

Her admiration for his body gushed her, the wonderment that she was able to transform him so much, the tense muscles of his buttocks, the swift snaps of his hips, the sweat on his skin. It was glorious, there was a keening sound. Had that been her?

He sent her a reassuring smile and gripped her leg and placed it over his hip, she pressed with her heel and stroke his leg and his ass, then she placed her other leg on her own. The feelings heightened, the pressure grew, tendrils of pleasure grew from where they were joined and snaked through her limbs, engulfed her. The bed was creaking and he laughed. His pleasure became hers and hers became his. Bodily boundaries vanished, they merged with another. He placed his hand at her core, then, all went blank, utter bliss.

She opened her eyes. She was loose and slack and so content as she had never felt before. That was why they called it making love. He was still laying on her but raised on his elbows. He was not heavy at all. He smiled at her and caressed her gently.

“How was I? Do you like it?”

“Err... I liked it!”

He laughed: “What praise!”

“No, I mean, it was wonderful... it.”

“Hush. I know, sweetling.” He carefully rearranged her crown and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

She asked: “Did you.. Also?”

He showed her with a quick thrust that he didn’t and asked: “Are you tired? Do you want to try something different? My back kind of hurts.”

She nodded curiously.

“Hold on!”

She did and he rolled them around, suddenly she was on top.

He laughed: “Don’t look so surprised!”

She wanted to hide her small breast, but he snatched her arm.

“Don’t spoil my view. I dreamt of this since you won our fight with live steel. You will be so good.”

The praise was thrilling. She was excited but didn’t know what to do. He held her hips and showed her. It wasn’t very difficult, she could set the pace. She could get exactly what she needed, seek the precise friction she craved. She had felt a tad bit tender, but soon it became only pleasant again. He was grunting and looked pained again. He drew her down, to kiss her. He used the same rhythm with his tongue that she directed with her hips. Her need was almost too much to bear.

Suddenly he stopped and said urgently: “Should I pull out? Say it now.”

She panted: “Stay, please.” She clenched and he bucked under her. The pressure rose, she started to shudder. He lowered his head to one nipple and sucked, and thrust into her from below, and groaned, and then it was there again, one flesh, one heart, one soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please ask your local maester how to proceed after a melee acquired concussion. Don’t take this chapter as medical advice in any kind or form.
> 
> Tomorrow I will post a short chapter with the ravens.


	12. White: the ravens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a short addendum, the last chapter’s ravens.

_Son, you know how I judge your disgraceful behavior. I will have to send your aunt to rein you in, although we need her at the Rock. I was assuming that marriage would change you into a grown-up man. I was wrong. I always learn from my mistakes._

_However, your sudden detour can be used for our gain. Tell the Riverland‘s lords, that the Lannisters are buying all the corn they can spare. The market for corn is low, they will be glad to oblige. We pay in coin. If you must, you can go up to half the price of the corn value at the end of last winter. Ask Lydden for counsel. Don’t ask Genna to accompany you to the negotiations; the Tullys wouldn’t be able to deal with her._

_Try, for once, to bring our family not more shame than you already have done._

_I expect that your wife is with child._

_On the goldroad, a day after the day of the Father, 289 AC_

_Lord Tywin_ _Lannister_

_Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Shield of Lannisport, etc., etc._

**********J&B**********  
  


_Big brother_

_I hope you enjoy your journey. Mine was dire, and my future looks even bleaker... You know how father is when he sets his mind to something._

_Try to listen to all political rumors, don’t write them per raven. We need to talk. Hurry up!_

_Your favorite imp, at his favorite place in the world: the Rock (that was sarcasm)_

_Ps, are you already as besotted as I expect you to be? Watch out._

_[Doodle]_

**********J&B**********

_Evenfall Hall, Maiden’s day Eve, 289 AC_

_My dearest starlight_

_How I miss you, my daughter! The training yard is too silent, there’s an empty chair in the hall._

_I was very worried to learn that you and your husband decided to leave Storm’s End on a whim and were not traveling with the Lannister host. However, the gracious lord Tywin assured me, that the roads you are taking are safe during peacetime and that you are surrounded by the best men of the West._

_Tomorrow is the day of the Maiden. I know you wouldn’t lit a candle for her anymore, and this thought makes me wistful. How fast the years have passed... I hope you are already lighting candles on another altar. This thought fills me with joy. Your dear late mother and I got much closer after Galladon was born and now I morn her every day. How is your life as a married woman? Your two short ravens from the road and the Quiet Isle didn’t tell much. Do you still spar? Please try to carry your burden as any good daughter would._ When the sun sets, we shine. _Never forget it, among all the roars._

_I was advised to avoid too many details. Ravens can be shot, the winds can be fickle. But if you could visit me one day, you wouldn’t recognize your home anymore. Everything is changing. New shops are opening in town, the miners are busy, the harbor bustling with ships. A benevolent sponsor replaced the missing stained glasses in the hall. When the sun sets, the marble gleams in crimson. I still need to get used to the sight. We are discussing the renovation of the ruins of Morne. I commissioned new tapestries for the corridors and halls. You would like them, the song of the Just Maid, woven by the best looms of Myr._

_Everything feels a bit overwhelming, to be honest, but my health stays good. How are you and your lord husband faring?_

_Septa Roelle dictated me some advice to send to you, unfortunately, one of the cats must have eaten my notes. What a shame._

_Ser Goodwin sends his regards and told me, you should watch that grimace and stick to the tactics you agreed upon. Then he predicts a good chance that you can beat one of the best swordsmen in the realm. (A gentle addendum: don’t beat him too hard.)_

_You gave our family so much, that my quill hesitates to write it down._

_Always, your grateful and loving father_

_Selwyn of Tarth, Evenstar, master of ships of the Eastern Lannister fleet  
  
_

**********J&B**********  
  


_Little Sister!_

_You have slain a shadowcat with your sword? Tell me more! Do you make a cloak with the shadowskin? Mine looks fetching! There are rumors about your journey, even songs. ~~But it sounds very exaggerated.~~ I need to learn more from the main source. Your raven was so short! ~~Does marriage make you lazy?~~ And what are you two doing, rushing through the kingdom like lunatics? Are you sure you are brought into your new home and not sent on a quest? Has Jaime Lannister made you into his squire instead of his wife? Does he treat you valiantly at least? I’m excepting good tidings soon. (Sooner about your knighting than about a not so small babe in the crib.)_

_Are you happy? I have to marry now too. They talk about brides in the Reach, in the West. If I’m lucky, I can visit you at the Rock. Much has changed because of you. Father calls me home. He can’t do everything on his own. A lot is going on at Evenfall Halls, and I’m very excited! I’m sure it’s all for the best._

_Greetings to your husband if he treats you alright, ~~if not, knock him down.~~ May the Warrior bless you with a strong arm!_

_Galladon of Tarth, lady Brienne Lannister’s proud brother; at the inn of the purple stag, no idea which day_

**********J&B**********

Three tiny piles of grey and bone white ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maiden’s day, etc. are not set on a fixed date, the Gods’ days don’t follow each other. (Sevenmass at the end of the year is a very lovely fandom invention.)  
> The seasons are not in tune with the year. Some winters and summers can last for years. Ser Duncan the Tall lived during an 80 year-long summer. After Robert’s rebellion, winter and summers were on average about 2.5 years long. No idea how nature deals with these seasons ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Updates will probably be a bit slower, real-life raises its bleak head. Sorry! But I will not abandon this story, it’s far too much fun.
> 
> Next: The Golden Tooth, some love bites, and the lions at the Rock show their fangs.


	13. Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travels and revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to shift some parts of my story and take others out, due to pacing issues, so we see Casterly Rocks in the next chapter, although I announced it differently. But there is some gold and more (NSFW, unless you are in a lockdown and work at home).

The morning before they hit the road again, Jaime was allowed to nick that wretched Tully bedpost one last time. Five days after the wedding, the wooden trout looked like a perch with its bars.

They followed the river road along the lazy meandering Red Fork. The stream was tinted by the sand of the Western mountains; the united Lannistermen marched upstream and colored the road in crimson. Genna’s coach slowed the progression considerably. The gentle flood plain they were crossing, looked typical for the Riverlands with its silvery willows and high reaching ashes; kingfishers flitted by like precious jewels; Riverlands’ rushing tunes mixed with the eerily jubilant flutes of oriols, and some amphibians were chiming their tinkle bells.

With every measured step his horse took, the looming Mountains of the Westerlands were approaching and threatened to squelch the fun Brienne and Jaime had shared.

Brienne was not riding at his side anymore. She was confined in a coach with aunt Genna who used the hours to fill Brienne’s ears with her blathering about the responsibilities the role of a lady of the Rock entailed. And so the imminent end of their adventure had started before they even crossed the borders of the Riverlands.

Jaime was jealous of Peck and Pia who rode cozily at the end of the retinue and were even singing together. Soon he would have to rein his squire in. But why shouldn’t he spoil him a little bit longer? Soon enough boring and suffocating days would come. At the Rock, the serious side of life was waiting for them all.

Jaime missed Brienne dearly, although she was only an arm's length away and they had left Riverrun mere hours ago. Instead of following the harrowing road that would lead him to his father, he should kiss her and tease her and fuck her right now. Jaime was riding close to the coach’s open windows and was partly listening to Genna’s account of the two dozen times the Iron Born had raided Lannisport throughout the centuries, partly he was trying to contribute to Swyft’s and Westerling’s plans how to fortify the gold road and the coast with new ditches and forts.

Swyft said angrily: “Ser Jaime, you must agree that the section between Clegan Hall and Deep End is the least fortified of the road. We must stay vigilant about outlaws, keep our eyes open.”

“No, don’t listen to him, coz. The Mountain will crush every bandit who would dare to put a foot in his territory. The coast, however, was always the Westerland’s weak spot...”

“And then,” Genna drowned the Westermen’s tale, “the Iron Born mutilated dowager Lelia Lannister, the mother of their king, by removing her lips, ears, and tongue. The heathens took revenge because she had led them to the Path of the Seven and condemned their drowned god. And so the fairest flower of the west lost her senses and her beauty.”

Jaime cried: “You forgot about the cut eyelids, Genna! And I bet she saw more after losing those.”

How he longed to kiss Brienne’s eyelids right now!

“Shut up, nephew. You are in no place to boast with your flimsy knowledge about Lannister lore. What exactly have you taught your wife in all the weeks you could have prepared her to meet Tywin?”

“Coz, are you listening? The coast closest to Ashermark couldn’t withstand an ambush... and our castle Cornfield decayed almost into a ruin.”

Jaime barked: “Yes, you are right, ser Raynald. Let’s discuss it with Addam then, he should know about Ashermark. And, ser Steffon, we will deal with the ditches as soon we are at the Rock.” 

This silenced Westerling and Swyft who looked mightily pleased. Jaime could concentrate fully on the women. He leaned towards the coach: “Genna, that’s not fair, I taught Brienne plenty about everything she needs to know!”

Genna huffed: “Yes, she gave me a fair account of everything you told her. How you jumped from the cliffs as a boy, changed clothes with Cersei so she could learn to wield a sword and you how to stitch, how you teased the lions in the bowls of the castle and played hopfrog with Tyrion in the Hall of Heroes. I should smack you right now for every prank I missed back then!”

Jaime laughed and slapped at a horsefly that threatened to bit the grey’s neck.

Brienne said earnestly: “That’s not true, lady Genna, he taught me many useful things, for example, a counter riposte and my footwork improved considerably.”

Genna sighed: “Call me Genna. How many times do I have to repeat myself?” She clicked her tongue: “Children, children. A riposte! Mother, give me strength! Brienne, do you honestly think that will impress your father in law? Did you meet him? You should be scared, everyone should be. You have to do anything to please him. I love my brother. I was seven when my father, a weak man, gave my hand to a son of Walder Frey. It was a very unfavorable match. His second son, not even his heir. Father was himself a thirdborn son, and younger children crave the approval of their elders. Frey sensed that weakness in him, and Father agreed for no better reason than to please him. My betrothal was announced at a feast with half the west in attendance. One lady laughed, a Reyne went angry from the hall. The rest sat on their tongues. Only Tywin dared speak against the match. A boy of ten. Father turned as white as mare's milk, and Walder Frey was quivering. How could I not love my brother, after that? But even I don’t approve of all he did and does, and I do not enjoy the company of the man he has become... every little girl needs a big brother to protect her. Tywin was big even when he was little. If you want to survive at the Rock, Brienne, you have to grow up.”

Jaime intervened: “I love Brienne’s height just as it is. Give her some slack, Genna. She got a proper education, she learns quickly and she is tough. I wouldn’t have chosen a weak wife. She will become a lioness quickly and will get used to the grandeur and extravaganza of Casterly. And I don’t plan to stay at the Rock for long, anyway. I will ask father for the Fair Isle as an apanage, and you can rule again as you like at home without suffering from our fighting stories.”

Genna sighed: “Jaime, you are the heir, act like one. You and Brienne belong to the Rock. You don’t need a remote isle as an apanage. You will inherit the Westerlands. And don’t you see that I would like to pass some of my heavy workloads into younger hands? And Brienne... you are not off the hook at all. I’m very disappointed with your negligence. Although I appreciate how diligently you are taking notes in your neat handwriting right now. But what did you do exactly during the time your betrothal was announced and Jaime arrived? Sitting in the library and studying every book about the Westelands you could get hold of? Then answer me some questions. Who was the last king of the Rock? How did my brother take siege of Tarbeck Hall?”

Brienne spluttered adorably and he just knew that her face was fast becoming as red as a beet: “Err...Well, I...” then eagerly “I know how Lann the Clever won the Rock and I can tell you about Joanna who slew twelve Iron Born.”

Genna sighed: “And gelded another. So the bannermen and Jaime sang you some songs?”

“Oh, we should cherish songs. You can learn a lot from them. Although they don’t tell the whole truth, but in a much nicer way. It’s always summer in the songs. In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining.”

Genna laughed: “Yes, a very astute observation. Like in the Rains of Castamere, a lot of sun in this song, indeed. Or what about the many songs about Lann coddling some virgins? And there is a beautiful song about a maid as white as winter with moonglow in her hair. And let’s not forget about the new one ser Addam sung to me. It’s about a girl that fights with a morningstar, fiercely, no beauty to mar. I like that one especially. See concerning philosophy, you have to try harder, girl.”

Brienne said meekly: “I couldn’t read beforehand at home, there was no time for it. There were other things to prepare.”

Jaime said proudly: “Seven bloody hells, Genna! She was honing her high window guard and thus winning my heart. Not every lady is as well equipped as you are, dear aunt, to sit hours and hours in the library without getting a numb bum. Brienne has ants in her pants.”

Brienne laughed, Genna yelled in mock fury and rattled the running coach’s door open. Jaime quickly pulled his steed around and let his horse walk at Brienne’s side of the coach where Genna couldn’t see him. There he made sweet eyes to Brienne who could hardly contain her giggling and listened to his poor aunt's regrets that she had been lured in by the cute sweet boy Jaime had been and didn’t use a firmer hand when this would still have had an effect. And then Genna started an excruciatingly longish account about the dessert preferences of every single noble lady of the Westerlands. Nevertheless, Brienne’s eyes remained sparkling and she took as carefully notes of the mindnumbing drivel as if she could halt an Iron Born raid with this knowledge. At least it soothed aunt Genna‘s hackles.

Whiteout knowing it Brienne had a knack for winning people’s favors. Jaime started to understand that she expected only the worst from people, but he couldn’t fully understand why. Her honesty and bravery won people over. Not, at first sight, she was not a people charmer, but even the Tullys had learned to love her. She had left him in the middle of the tourney as he was explaining to her the exact angle a lance had to hit into a breastplate, to join a search party for Cat’s little girl. Brienne found the fair maid of three with auburn hair soundly asleep under Lisa’s bloody falcons’ mews, where she had played come-into-my-castle with other brats. After that, the little she-wolf followed Brienne like a puppy. And even Cat who was a cold fish in a wolf pelt warmed up to her. Jaime had refused to let Brienne waste all her time with the Tullys alone and had to been forced to tag along. He made the best of a bad situation by planning their nightly and not so nightly trysts. It amused him greatly to imagine how indignant or jealous Lisa and Cat would be if they could read his thoughts. A strategically placed cloak in his lap protected his fantasies.

**********J&B**********  
  


After some dreary days, they finally reached the Golden Tooth. The castle was perched high up over a pass and guarded the Westerlands. The lush and damp greens of the Riverlands had given way to red barked pines, and the brisk wind made it easier to breathe. Jaime felt an unexpected longing to be at home and to show Brienne everything. And to finally make love to her in his bedroom. They had arrived late to Acorn Hall and Pink Maiden and rose early. Brienne was exhausted from her lessons and he from discussing fortifications and a squabble between Genna’s useless husband and some of his bannermen. And then he had to ask the lady of Smallwood and the lord of Piper for corn. He had seen enough granaries for a lifetime. Genna never let them a moment of privacy on the road as if she had forgotten how her much-desired heirs were produced. Jaime was tired, Brienne was tired, neither was up to seduce the other. It was sweet to sleep in Brienne’s arms, to be soothed and coddled, but as soon as the road began to become steeper and the mountains rose, Jaime got uncomfortably horny.

When one of the wheels of the coach got stuck, he wandered off to gather some spotted orchids, that grew solely in this valley. How he would love to fight with Brienne right now, but Genna would die from a heart attack and he liked his aunt.

Peck approached him. He had filled out in the last weeks. His gate was less gangly. Jaime didn’t want to let him go, but the day was coming nearer, Jaime had been knighted at a much younger age. And there were still some things he could teach him.

“Peck, do you want to spar? I have stretched my legs enough. This journey goes more maddening by the league.”

“Sure, ser! I would be honored. But what do you do with this greenery?”

“Flowers for the lady.”

“Do they like it? Does it show? Do you think I should gather some for Pia, ser?”

“Always treat her like a lady and she will treat you like a lord.”

Peck got a red hue to his cheekbones: “I try! But... Can I ask you a question, ser Jaime? At the Quiet Isle, you told me you owe me a debt...”

“The Lannisters... but you know the rest. Do you want to collect it? What does your sweet maiden want?”

“How do you know, it’s about her, ser?”

“Not a difficult guess. A debt from the Lannisters should be used to your utmost advantage. Don’t think with your cock.”

Peck sighed dramatically: “It’s about my heart, ser.”

Jaime laid a comforting hand on Peck’s shoulder and tousled his hair: “Don’t fret, Pia likes you too. It’s written all over her face.”

Peck beamed at him and looked again very much like a boy: “Do you think so, ser?”

“Haven’t you told her that you love her?”

“That’s not so easy. What if she doesn’t share my feelings?” He sighed heavily.

“I think she will feel honored and be kind about it, even if she doesn’t share your feelings. But I’m sure, she does. Ask her! It’s very simple.”

“Can I ask how you told lady Brienne how much you love her? How did she react?”

“We are nobles and our marriage was arranged against our will, there’s no need for love.”

Peck got a sly smile: “So, you haven’t told her? Why ser? I think lady Brienne will feel honored and be kind about it, even if she doesn’t share your feelings. But I’m sure, she does. It’s written all over her face. Ask her! It’s very simple.”

Jaime gripped the flowers too tight and a stem snapped: “About the bet... better ask me before I will trash you into the ground when we spar.”

“See, Pia has these longings about a noble chamber and a mirror.”

“There are plenty of them in every castle. Sweet Pia can admire her face whenever she does my wife’s hair.”

“Er... it’s not about her face, ser.” He stood on his tiptoes and whispered hurriedly into Jaime’s ear.

Jaime shook his head: “I start to regret the day we took Pia into our household. But no one should say Lannisters are not true to our unofficial house’s words. I tell you when, and only then. And you clean everything after. Clean sheets, clean table, clean whatever - and open the windows.”

**********J&B**********  
  


As a toddler Jaime had played hide-the-treasure between crates of gold, he was used to the sight and even bored by it. Visiting her first gold mine under the Golden Tooth, Brienne looked subdued and dismayed. Lady Alysanna Lefford was clad in her house colors and carried a matching canary in a cage. The small bird trilled and warbled with such a shrill voice that the sound sprung back from the stone walls. The sour lord of the Gold Tooth waved his torch along a golden vein that snaked through the rock. With Peck’s help, he opened a bin full of the vividly yellow ore. Brienne touched it with a delicate hand. Perhaps she had never seen pure soft gold. It was very warm deep down in the belly of the castle, there was a sheen of sweat on her face.

Lord Leo asked: “And how does your lord father likes our miners, lady Brienne? Lord Tywin asked me personally to send my best men. On Tarth you are mining for centuries, but expertise with marble quarries doesn’t solve your new demands. You need gold miners to dig up the treasures your island has to offer.”

Brienne straightened: “What do you mean?”

Lady Alysanna put the cage down and took Brienne’s hand: “House Lefford feels thrilled to assists the lords from the Ruby Island.”

Brienne looked as confused as Jaime felt and caught his gaze: “Why are people suddenly calling Tarth the Ruby Island? I wondered at Riverrun and Pink Maiden. We are the Sapphire Island, named after its deep blue waters. Nothing is red about Tarth.”

Lady Alysanna tittered: “You jest like you were born in the West! It’s priceless!”

Brienne stared at him: “What’s going on here? What do I don’t get? What are they talking about, Jaime?”

He shrugged helplessly: “I know just as much as you do. Ser Leo, what is this business with these ruddy rubies? Speak. At once.”

The sodden yellow bird wouldn’t stop to sing, and the lady flustered: “But, ser Jaime. You must know... they discovered rubies in the old marble mines of Tarth.”

Jaime stroked a hand over his face: “They? You mean my father did. Now the penny drops, why three closed marble mines satisfied the Lannisters as a dowry for the precious son of Lord Tywin. How rich are those mines, Lefford?”

“Very rich, my lord.”

Brienne snarled at him: “You Lannisters tricked my house? You stole our treasures.”

Jaime raised his hands: “I didn’t know about it! I swear! Tyrion suspected it was more than marble...”

Lady Alysann grabbed soothingly at the sleeve of one of the damn crimson dresses Genna forced Brienne to wear: “They found more jewel mines on Tarth, my lady. Your house stays one of the richest ones in the realm.”

Brienne shook her off, stalked to him and stabbed a finger into his chest: “You suspected something was strange, but wouldn’t tell me?”

Jaime cried: “I forgot! It was not important! You could have asked! Did you never wonder why my father wanted to marry me to a lowly poor house?”

Brienne got a very small voice: “That it’s what you think of me? I’m the daughter of a lowly, poor house?”

“That’s unfair, Brienne! I was talking from my father’s perspective. I don’t care about houses and riches.”

“So you say...”

“But lady Brienne,” said lady Alysanna in her high pitched voice, “aren’t you happy? You are informed you are from a very wealthy home and married to the richest and most powerful house in the realm. From rags to riches, it’s like a fairy tale. I would rejoice in your shoes!”

Jaime growled: “Out! At once. All of you. And take that damn bird with you. It will not clean the air. Yes, you too Peck. Go. And, by the way, Peck, now is the time, collect your debt in my guest room. And don’t hurry. I will need time to solve this here.”

The Leffords and Peck scurried out. It was blissfully silent. Brienne sat on a closed gold crate and stared into the void. Jaime stalked the deeply carved cavern.

“Look, Brienne, I’m sorry that you think you got played. But that’s my father, we are nothing more than pieces on his cyvasse board. He has the strongest pieces. A dragon can remove a trebuchet from the board anytime.”

“No.”

“You have no choice. We have no choice. Did it turn out so bad for you, in the end?”

“No. It’s the other way around. A trebuchet removes a dragon from the board. You don’t even play cyvasse. How do you think you can beat your father?”

“That’s Tyrion’s game. I don’t plan to, and I don’t wish to beat father. I want to live in peace and to ride my horse and swing my sword and fuck my wife. That’s all I care.”

“My home will never be the same anymore. My father is not a politician. Our island was peaceful and lonely. We were protected by our insignificance. Now we are dragged into the fights between the big families. They will bite Tarth, shred it to pieces, and spit the rest out.”

He kneeled at her feet and took both her hands: “It’s not all doom and gloom, Brienne. I will protect you. I swore an oath, in the sept, remember? And my father is the worst enemy to have, but he is a good ally if you have something to offer. Please look at me, sweetling. Did it turn out so bad for you? Your father could have married you off to any great house. Would you prefer to be a Martell? A Targaryen? A Baratheon? Instead of choosing me?”

Her astonishing blue eyes looked whistful then there was suddenly a shy smile: “I bet they wouldn’t have won my hand. We had a glorious bout that day. You are strong enough. You are good.”

He was giddy with relief: “I am, am I not? My ox guard gets you all hot and bothered.”

“I prefer your fool’s guard, silly man.”

He smiled up at her.

“Are you all talk and no action?” She asked.

“You want to spar now? Here? In the mine?”

“No, take me.”

“Where to?”

She tugged his ear, but more gently than Genna used to do.

“Don’t tease me. It’s not the right moment.”

“I’m not. What do you mean?”

She raised her brows. And he suddenly realized that he had been badly aroused for a while and now it became overwhelmingly aching.

“You want to fuck? Here? But the rock doesn’t look comfortable to lie upon or lean into. But we could try to stand or...” he looked around.

“Aren’t you glad that I didn’t grow up as spoiled as you were? We poor islanders have to be resourceful to survive. Wait, Pia told me something.”

She pushed him away, stood up, hitched her skirt up, shoved her underwear down, and lied on her stomach over the huge gold crate.

Jaime rose to his feet and gaped at his bold wife, a shimmering treasure displayed for him in the torchlight, only for him, her strong pale legs, the vulnerable hollows of her knees, her wonderful pert backside, the dress that bunched around her waist. He stood frozen, then he fumbled hurriedly with the strings of his breeches. His hands were shaking.

Brienne looked over her shoulder and said with a husky voice: “Hurry up!”

He furiously ripped the strings and some cloth, took his cock out, pumped once, twice, hitched his knees between her legs and parted them. She smelled ready, but he took his hand to rub between her legs. This was another step into trusting him and his body. It shouldn’t be anything less than wonderful for her. She reached back and placed his hand at her hip and said in the sharp voice of a commander: “Stop dallying. I want it now!”

He obeyed her and took her in one rough thrust, his balls slapped against her. She grunted. Her backside was rosy-hued.

Agonizingly hot lust snaked through his veins like molten ore. He dug his fingers hard into her hips, biting his bottom lip, and he stilled.

She asked strained: “Do you not like it this way? Why do you stop?”

“No, no... I”

He thrust, she pushed back, they became faster and faster. He pumped into her with a maddening pace. He couldn’t see her honest face, but her body told him everything. She was quivering and clenching, her back arched and she keened: “Yes, Jaime, yes... Gods. Yes, just like that. You feel so good.”

He slowed down to languid sweeps. He had to ask her: “Brienne, these rubies... ah, ah... do they have to change what we share?”

“They don’t have to. We will see. But please take me harder, Jaime, please. I need it.” She bucked against him.

He obeyed like a good soldier and panted: “I want you. I want you. I don’t want to share with the Rock. Let’s leave Genna and the rest and travel back on our own. I know the Westerland as well as the back of my hand. Yes, yes, do that again... Sweetling... We can have some blissful days alone. Brienne... I show you the beauty of the mountains. I want you to fall in love with the West. We can fuck in every abandoned mine, we sleep in the woods under the stars, we swim naked in the sea, we can hunt, we can spare, we can...” he stilled, caressed her backside, she clenched, one deep stroke homewards.

“Yes... yes... yes...Jaime... yes” she cried and shuddered hard, and he followed her leap down the cliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter explained why Tywin Lannister wanted his son to marry Brienne of Tarth. There were some hints before, I hope they weren’t too subtle.  
> The whole spiel is not much more than a scaffold for the romance therefore not important, but perhaps you wonder why I chose this plot option. Here an explanation: I dreamed about writing an arranged marriage fic for years, but couldn’t find a satisfying reason why Tywin would favor this match. Some months ago I was idly browsing some gemmology websites. I stumbled over the fact that rubies are found in marble. This tidbit intrigued me. Rubies and sapphires are the same minerals (corundum), so I hoped sapphires were found in marble, too. What a plot twist, if the name Sapphire Isle was not only about the water.
> 
> Unfortunately, Wikipedia says: “Sapphire and rubies are often found in the same geographical settings, but they generally have different geological formations. For example, both ruby and sapphire are found in Myanmar's Mogok Stone Tract, but the rubies form in marble, while the sapphire forms in granitic pegmatites or corundum syenites.”
> 
> So I couldn’t use the sapphire in marble mines plot twist. Over time I started to realize that ruby mines could be even more interesting for Tywin. Furthermore, they were a nice metaphor for the question of house alliances after marriage. And so this fic was born.
> 
> Next: life at the Rock, and family issues.


	14. Might I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime travel from the mountains to the Rock, their company is sullen, the welcome cold, and yet they become closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: allusions to the Tysha/Tyrion backstory in the beginning of this chapter, that means mention of rape, nothing graphic, but it’s heartwrenching in canon.

The sun had set over the sea. The crimson sky became blue. Brienne smelt salt in the roof of her mouth. The waves were breaking rhythmically at the cliff they camped upon. In her mind’s eye, she could see the foam slushing over the rugged limestone. The ocean was swallowing up land, sand corn after sand corn, till there would be no place to make love anymore. She and Jaime were naked and sweaty, half-covered in blankets. Brienne was utterly satisfied and stretched her languid limbs, her fluttering heart slowed down.

It was not a cold night, even without clothes, but as the afterglow faded away Brienne missed the warmth of his body although he had rolled off, only moments ago, his breaths were still labored. She pressed closer to Jaime, who made a content noise in the back of his throat and pulled her into his arms. They were alone in the wild. Their merry fire was burning down, the stars were becoming visible and sprinkled the sky. The feeling of unease that hadn’t left her the whole day, was finally gone.

Brienne loved the last week, spending time alone with Jaime. He showed her the partly scenic, partly harsh landscape of the western mountains. Often, they camped outdoors or in small caves. The red sandstone hid many of them, and Jaime knew them all. Thrice they looked for shelter with the small folk. The Westermen and women were gracious hosts. Brienne and Jaime slept under the roof of small farmhouses, once even in a shepherd’s camp. In the hills over Oxcross, they helped some herders to hunt down a mountain lion. The next day the combined power of Jaime’s grey and her mare heaved a log over a brook to replace the broken bridge on the path to a woodswitch. Then, they accompanied and protected a group of mummers on their way to Kayce.

It had been the good and simple life of knights-errant. She could have lived like that forever. They drank sheep-milk, ate dried ham with rye bread and small sweet apples. They hunted rabbits or caught fish, and gathered wild vegetables. Their hosts recognized the rampant lion on their coats but didn’t always realize who Jaime was. He made it a sport out of not informing them, and it was rather revealing. They liked the stability the old lion provided but feared him greatly. Could you lead such a great kingdom, and still stay just and kind? One day, Brienne and Jaime would have to figure out how to do it.

The days they spent alone had been wonderful, but as soon they came near to the ocean, and the red rock turned into yellow, and Brienne saw her first seagull for weeks, she felt an unpleasant prickle on her skin, although she had looked forward to seeing the wide planes of water again. She felt watched or even hunted. Even as they swam in the sea together for the first time at the coast to Fair Island, it was like something could swallow them down. She didn’t tell him. It was likely her fear of the Rock, and he would only suggest running away.

Brienne was surprised that he was a fearless jumper, at least as good as her, but that she outswam him easily. She spent their time in the water trying to not get sidetracked by his playful mood but teaching him how to crawl properly.

To the left of them, the magnificent Rock loomed, and that made her feel queasy. The ridge crested dramatically from the sea and blended in a gentle slope into the land. The castle was a carved out cliff, crusted with galleries, and turrets, balconies, and crenellations. At sunset, as they were chasing their release, it had looked like an ostentatious and shaggy lion who gazed proudly into the distance, not bothered by the throws of passion that wrecked them. Now fires shone through the many windows and portals and made the cliff sparkle. Brienne’s mind balked at calling it her future home. On their right-hand twinkling lights revealed the location of Feastfires. Tomorrow Jaime would show her the town, where his mother had grown up. It looked more like a place she could live in.

She huddled closer to him and asked: “What will happen when we come to Casterly Rock?”

He played with her hair: “We survive father, and we will try to live as we did on the road. The Rock is not like other castles. It’s a burrow carved into a cliff. There are nooks and crannies everywhere if you know where you can hide. We can go hunting, perhaps we will be sent on a campaign soon, or we will organize a tourney. We can always spar, and... we can fuck. Father will even support that. When I get as I wish we go to Fair Castle in some months.”

She sighed: “I don’t want to go to your home, but we have to. Do you miss it? Make it dear to me, please.”

“I can’t lie to you. I spent years elsewhere, without missing it. It’s hard to say. I miss certain things. I want to show you many places. The view, the light, the armory, the stables, and the kennels. I want to take you to Lannisport. I miss Tyrion. I want you two to meet.”

“You are close.”

“I’m his big brother, how could I not feel close to him? I tried to protect him as he was a small child. My sister hated him, still hates him, she blames him, like father does, for the death of our mother. It was not easy to be a good big brother to him. I gave him his first pony. I love him, but it will never be easy for him.”

She gently stroked his cheek, the growing beard there: “Because he is small?”

“He looks small. But sometimes I think it’s a bigger problem that everything else is huge about him. His curiosity, his hunger for knowledge, his intelligence, his hurt, his pride.”

She petted his shoulder softly: “Was he ever happy?”

He whispered: “Once. I’m responsible that he isn’t anymore. No one else is to blame. I wronged him most horribly.”

“You? I can hardly believe that. Do you want to tell me about it?”

“He was married once before he wanted to go to the citadel and become the Highsepton one day. He is very ambitious. We are different. Tyrion is more like father. Then his future changed dramatically. He was only twelve, he would have been a mere squire if he had the stature for it. Tyrion and I came upon a girl who was attacked by outlaws on the road to Lannisport, young as Tyrion, and beautiful. I chased the men away, and he took care of the girl. As I came back, I learned that her name was Tysha, she was an orphan, without a home, very hungry and frightened. Tyrion took her to an inn, and I went to the Rock and let them be. He was so proud to be her rescuer, and already falling for her. As I came back the next morning to check on them, they were married and seemed happy. I was relieved that he did not choose to become a septon, as celibate and miserable as a Kingsguard. I didn’t betray them, kept it a secret. They lived in a small cabin. But the septon who married them told father... and father...” His voice broke.

“Yes, Jaime.”

He said hoarsely: “She was a crofter’s daughter, you see. Not a wife to be worthy to marry a Lannister in my father’s mind. It made sense back then, what father told me. Now it sounds horrible. See, my father fears weakness. We Lannisters almost lost everything because of my grandfather. Tytos Lannister, the laughing lion, they called him or the toothless one. He was amiable and only wanted to be loved. He freely gave what he had and took no offense if someone mocked him. House Lannister was near its downfall. Only my father’s ruthlessness saved us. Father feared this weakness in Tyrion. He fears it in me; he will fear it in you. I couldn’t see, that he was wrong back then, that there’s a middle way. Father said that I had to protect my little brother and his foolish heart. I felt I was I. Debt to my father because I joined the Kingsguard against his will. So I helped. I told Tyrion the lie my father ordered me to deliver. That Tysha was a whore, and I had fabricated the attack and paid the girl to get Tyrion his first woman, and that she was only using him and telling him lies. I told myself that I can’t know about her feelings. No one knows whether Tysha had fallen in love with Tyrion if he had been a poor dwarf. No one knows...”

Brienne gasped: “We can never know all the reasons why we love, whom we love. It is, what it is. So you told your brother this lie? You pretended to have arranged the scene with the outlaws because your father told you to? Can’t you imagine how humiliating this must have been for your brother, to think your true love, was only pretending to love you back?”

He looked away: “It gets worse, much worse. Father made the guards rape her in the barracks. She got a silver coin from every man and a golden one from Tyrion, who was the last in line. The marriage was annulled.”

“That’s horrifying! Why? As a revenge? To punish Tyrion?”

“Father is not cruel for the sake of it. He had reasons besides punishing Tyrion. If Tysha had been pregnant her claim that the child was Tyrion’s would have been weak. Father was always sure I wouldn’t stay forever in the Kingsguard. He tried to guarantee that no heir of Tyrion’s would become a threat to my sons. To our sons.”

She moved away: “I don’t care about the many ‘ifs’ and your father’s coldhearted reasoning. A girl was brutally raped for falling in love with the wrong boy. How could you let this happen? Tyrion watched? And raped her, too? What kind of family are you? Did he truly love her?”

He shivered: “I heard about it later after it was done. I couldn’t interfere anymore. I should have known. I was stupid. And Tyrion... who knows whether he truly loved her. As I said, he has the Lannister pride. We don’t take offense easily.”

“Does he know the truth? He sacrificed his dream of becoming a septon for the hope he could be loved and lost everything in the end.”

Jaime shook his head: “He didn’t lose everything. He is still a Lannister. No, I never told him. I... Perhaps he should never know? For the girl, aye... but see I was in the Kingsguard, everything was miserable back then. I...”

She took him in her arms and shook him lightly: “If you are truly sorry. You have to tell him.”

“I see now, that I did wrong. I... I feel ashamed. I don’t like to dwell on it.”

“What happened to that girl? We must help her.”

“We can try to find her. Perhaps she is still alive and used the money, she got. You can start something new with so much coin. But I don’t know whether you can truly live with what happened to her. Perhaps she went inside during... But wouldn’t it make everything worse for him, if I tell Tyrion?”

“I don’t think so. It will be painful, he might never forgive you. But family members shouldn’t lie to each other. He must know that he is lovable.”

“You are right.” Jaime pressed a kiss to her temple. “You are making me into a better man, Brienne.”

“No, I show you, what was always there, in your heart” She pressed her hand to it and felt the fast, but steady beat.

He nuzzled his nose in the crook of her neck, and she embraced him. The fire had fully burned down, only red glowing embers were left. What awaited her at the Rock? Could she withstand such a cruel family? Could Jaime truly become his own man? Could she stay true to herself?

They were staying silent, the waves were rushing, untroubled by the wicked ways of men.

Jaime sighed deeply, shuddered, and said: “Look over there, this is the constellation, you call the Just Maid. You promised to tell me the story about it, but you never did. I like your voice so much. It is soothing. Tell me a bedtime story, please.”

She smiled and caressed his hair: “Once upon a time Tarth had two castles. Evenfall Hall in the West and Morne in the East. Ser Galladon of Morne was hailed as the Perfect Knight. He was more gallant and a better fighter than any other knight in Westeros. He protected all the innocents and helped all the weak. He was such a wonderful man that the Maiden herself fell in love with him. She gave him an enchanted sword, the Just Maid, to show him how much she loved him. No other sword was sharper or swifter, it cut through shields and armor.”

“Who is this sword now? Does your family have it?”

“No one knows. It got lost in time. It must have been a magnificent blade. Galladon was such a great knight that he couldn’t use it in normal combat or his opponents wouldn’t stand a chance to beat him. He used it only three times, once to slay a dragon.”

“Oh... you grew up with a legend about a hero who slew a dragon and hated a knight who did the same?”

She whispered into his ear: “I don’t need a perfect knight if I can have you. And I don’t hate you anymore.” She gave him a chaste kiss on his lips and felt his smile.

He said: “Now I’m sad. Do you have a magical sword to gift me? To make it better?”

“I’m not a Maiden anymore. What can I do instead?”

He hummed and let his fingertips glide over her chest: “We have to sleep with each other again to make it better. Do you know, what is different, if I sleep with you? I feel happy after. I always thought it’s normal to be sad after you fucked. All the pressure and excitement rush from you in one quick squirt. What is left, when every other feeling is gone, is sadness. But with you, it’s different. I’m happy after.”

She felt a sharp surge of pride. He caressed her shoulder and her collarbone gently, then he cupped her left breast and pressed his palm to her heart. The feeling of victory was immodest, but it made her ask: “Why is that so?”

“You need to ask a wiser man than I am. But alas, most sage men took vows of celibacy so it will be one of the great mysteries forever. But I can try to guess. Perhaps it’s your eyes?” He kissed her eyelids.

“Perhaps it’s your freckles?” He nibbled on her collarbone.

“Perhaps it’s your rosy nipples?” He pinched her, not too hard, but also not lightly.

“Do you want to do it again now?” She asked eagerly.

“Not now... We have the whole night. Be patient with me, although I like it, that you ask what you want. Should I go down on you?” He planted a sloppy kissed on her sternum.

She asked: "I ask you more for it than you ask me. Don’t you desire me?”

He laughed: “Of course I desire you, wench, what a stupid question...”

“You seem nervous sometimes, although I was the shy maiden not long ago and you have far more experience than I have. I don’t understand it.”

“I liked the maiden, but I like the woman more.” Two kisses on each of her breasts.

“Then why don’t you ask more?”

He laughed: “Women have more stamina than men! And as I said it’s different with you. In a way, I was just a virgin as you are. But I also have more reason to be nervous.”

She pulled him up and looked him into the eyes. They were dark in the night but glittered. She asked: “Why is that so?”

“If I do something wrong, if I hurt you again, I could lose you.”

“I can forgive.”

He sighed: “That makes it even more difficult. A possible offense is even more heinous. I’ve grown up and lived my life among vengeful people. I don’t want to hurt, someone who is easily hurt and will not take revenge, but shy away.”

“You have to learn to trust, that I’m not so easy to lose.”

He laughed: “You are not small, that’s true. I will probably never misplace you.”

“Jaime, I...”

A man cleared his voice and barked harshly: “Seven bloody buggering hells! Have you finished already? It’s sickening to be forced to listen to this lovesick babble. Let’s go.”

She shrieked and scrambled to protect her modesty. Jaime took her hand reassuringly, sat up, and whispered: “Don’t worry.” He addressed the man in a sneering voice: “Hound, what are you doing here?”

The very tall man brushed lanky hair over his face: “I’m now the shepherd dog for wayward little lions, it seems. Move.”

“Where’s the leash? Are you calling us to heel and except to follow your commands?”

“Not mine, your lord father’s.”

“I could probably beat you on my own, Clegane. I always wondered. You have the height and strength, but I have speed and skill on my side. Together with my wife, you don’t stand a chance.”

He laughed harshly: “Bugger off! Is this the right moment to get cocky? You two are stark naked! You want to fight and armored men like that? Spare me the view. And I have my fucking friends with me.”

He whistled sharply and three huge black lime hounds run to him eagerly. They growled at and circled them, but leaped back to him after a brisk command.

Jaime brushed his hair back: “Where will you lead us to, Sandor?”

“Sandor? Eh... you get politer by the heartbeat. Don’t call me ser, in the end. I hate fucking knights, cunts all of them.” He spat on the ground and rasped: “I’m assigned by your loving lord father, to escort you to Casterly Rock, the castle you will inherit one day, ser Jaime. Would you please follow this heartfelt invention as soon as it is convenient for you and your sweet lady wife? In other words: now.”

They reached for their clothes.

Clegane snorted. “It was me who escorted you to your woman. Against your will. And now you are inseparable. You remind me of stupid stud dogs. First, you have to drag the male dog to the bitch, she snarls and whines, as soon they get the hang of it, they get knotted and can’t separate for ages, because her cunt is too tight, and his cock too swollen. Enough breeding now. Dogs have other jobs and lions too. Move.”

Brienne felt mortified, almost as much about Clegane’s words as about Jaime’s laughter that had a hysterical ring to it.

**********J&B**********

Brienne hadn’t imagined her arrival at Casterly Rock in lavish details, but she would never have considered it to be like that: in the middle of the night and such a hurry. She felt almost like a prisoner. Sandor Clegane had pushed his enormous black courser into a punishing pace, the howling pack of hounds run around them and made her mare twitch. She needed all her concentration to guide her horse, her gaze stayed firmly on their path in front of them.

Then the Rock suddenly loomed over them like the lid of a stone coffin, before it closed down. The main portal called Lion’s mouth swallowed them like insignificant flies. Besides some watchmen and servants, who bowed or fell to their knees, they were rushed through the umbraged corridors without a disturbance. Sometimes a torch allowed the glimpse of a shadowy relief, or some gleaming metal of weaponry, or the lustrous gems on a tapestry. Through the galleries, she could see stars and the inky sea. Clegane carried on with his swift wide strides and didn’t allow them to linger. At odd times, Jaime threw an explanation at her, that didn’t help her orientation. She would never find her way in this maze, without getting lost, it was at least twenty times the size of Tarth. Brienne had never felt as small and insignificant.

Jaime’s posture became tenser, his voice more clipped: “We are led to father’s solar.”

She didn’t even dare to ask whether she could freshen up. Her hair was stiff with salt and wind-blown, the face sunburned and full of freckles, her clothes dirty, in some places torn and probably smelly.

Tywin Lannister was sitting at a huge desk. It was highly stacked with orderly piles of papers, scrolls, and ledgers. He was writing, hard-working as if it was in the middle of the day and he was totally alone. He didn’t even thank Clegane who had delivered them with a smirk that tore at the burnt half of his mouth.

Brienne hadn’t looked closely at her father-in-law at Tarth. The Lannisters and their men had seemed all equally hateful back then. Now she could detect a hint of Jaime in him, the sharp cut face, there was still a trace of Lannister in the greying hair. It was cropped short and balding but still golden at the sides. His shoulders looked familiar. He wielded his squill with the same precision Jaime wielded his sword. At the same time, the slight resemblance between father and son made them look more different. How could any woman love such a cold man?

The scratch of the quill grated on her nerves. She and Jaime were waiting, standing in front of his desk. He was writing, sealed something, and reached for another parchment. She smelt the burnt sealing wax. Hadn’t she gotten accustomed to Lannister drama over the last weeks, she had probably snapped right now. She looked puzzled at Jaime, who looked somehow younger than usual, although he sported a week-old beard. His head was slightly bent, the hands nicely folded, he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His gaze flicked to hers. There were so many emotions in his eyes, they changed from seething to meek to annoyed. She nodded briefly, a silent language, they had practiced, while stalking the mountain lion that threatened the shepherd’s flock. He nodded back, set his chin, then rolled his eyes and she smiled reassuringly. Tywin Lannister chose exactly this moment, to acknowledge them. She flinched under his stare. 

He shoved his heavy chair back, strode to her and bowed curtly: “Lady Brienne, it took you a while to graze your new home with your much-awaited presence. I’m neither used to waiting nor to get my orders flaunted.”

She gaped and hastened to curtsy. He looked over his nose down to her. How could such an unmoving face show so much scorn?

“You don’t look like a Lannister should.”

She straightened her spine and her shoulders, looked him directly into his eyes said: “I’m aware of that, my lord.”

Jaime cleared his voice: “Well met, father. I found enough wheat that you can feed the whole Westerlands with lemon cake for over a year.”

Tywin Lannister didn’t acknowledge his son and only stared at her: “I heard you slew a pirate? Beheaded a shadowcat? Got beaten in a melee, but won the admiration of the Blackfish? Well, well..”

“Yes, I...”

“Don’t interrupt me. Are you with child?”

Her moon-blood had come as they entered the mountains, she was neither willing nor able to lie: “Not yet, my lord.”

“You will talk with maester Creylen tomorrow. He will tell you to sustain from pirate slaying in the next months.”

“Father, I promised her, that she can keep her sword. We enjoy fighting. It’s like breathing to us. You can’t...”

Brienne had believed the lord’s voice had been cold before but had to reconsider this notion as he addressed his son: “Save your breath, then. The whole realm talks about the knightly couple who enchanted everyone with their good deeds. How charming. But you are not in wedlock to produce fodder for songs, you are married to get heirs.”

“That’s enough, father. I had an inkling this wouldn’t work. We will go to the Fair Castle at once. Brienne and I are happy together. I’m sure you remember the feelings from your marriage to my mother.”

The lord raised a brow and tutted: “What a low blow, son. Do you know I got knighted in the blaze of Summerhall? And yes, I remember how to riposte. Let’s see... I let your wife fight if you finally start to become a lord. Her time in the yard for yours.”

Jaime sighed: “I’m more useful for you if you let me do what I’m good at, securing the borders, the roads, and the coast.”

“And when I’m gone? You can’t rule this land by securing its borders alone. You plan to waste all our wealth and become a weak man like my father was? Only with the insignificant difference that instead of collecting books, you will organize tourneys? What about all the people you are responsible for? From the servants, the small folk to the nobles. What about your wife, your children? Your grandchildren?”

“That’s ridiculous. There’s more gold than generations of Lannisters can spend. You are still in your prime and there are Kevan and Genna and Tyrion...”

“And they will rip everything into pieces when I’m gone. While you wander the lands with your wife to slay some monsters? Do you wish this? And then a Targaryen will swoop in and scavenger the West. Since we had been kings this land had never been more prosperous as under my rule. You forget that where’s wealth and splendor, jealousy is not far away. Do you intend to risk thousands of lives to play knights? I guarantee you it’s not so much fun if you become old and your joints start to ache.”

“Let’s not become paranoid. We...”

Brienne intercepted Jaime and said firmly: “Fine. I will do my duty, here, at the Rock.”

Father and son glared at her as if they had forgotten she was in the solar with them. Jaime looked startled, lord Tywin’s lips twitched for a fraction of a heartbeat.

Jaime said: “Brienne, you can’t...”

His father talked over him: “You will do your duty and become a lady of the Rock? My son is an acceptable sword- and horseman but for everything else too thick. He would feed starving peasants with lemon cakes, you heard it yourself.” He raised his voice: “There are no lemon trees in the West.”

Jaime bristled: “Come on, not even you can be so dour. That was a joke!”

The lord shook his head and glared at her, as if she was responsible for Jaime’s insolence: “See, that’s all my sons do. They jape and laugh as if the whole West is a mere joke to them. I expect better of you, lady Brienne. Tarth is a serious isle. Your house words call for excellence in times of doom. Not for mindless roaring. Teach him that there are situations where this so-called humor is nothing other than a flimsy veil for weakness. I have plans for you, and what kind of a lady of the Rock you shall become. It’s more than the household you have to get accustomed to, a considerable burden on its own. We have more people here than many a town. No, you will also have to learn about the whole West, the taxes and accounting, and everything about the Westerlands’ past.”

Brienne nodded briskly and looked at Jaime: “Can you try for some weeks? If it doesn’t work for you, we can always choose to go.”

Jaime shrugged: “You want this? Really? I can try if it makes you happy.”

Her father-in-law took her hand, gripped it firmly, then clapped Jaime on the shoulder, and filled three goblets with Arbor red. It tasted rich and lavish and tart.

Lord Tywin sat back behind his desk and dismissed them: “I changed my lodgings and got my rooms, and Johanna’s prepared for you two. We meet tomorrow in the library at the hour of the lark, sharp.”

Then he buried himself again behind his scrolls and letters. Before they closed the door, he called: “And son, in your stead, swooning over a woman, but forced to travel with my annoying father, I would have done the same and run away off with her. See, we are not so different. You can’t run from your legacy. And yes. I’m still in my prime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter of this fic is now betaed by the wonderful nottadayaye. It is much better now! 
> 
> I read and listened to many psychological analyses of Tywin Lannister. I go with the following interpretation: he is very ruthless and cunning, but never cruel without a reason, he is not a psychopath. His main goal is to avert harm to his family, but the means are often unforgivable. I hope he doesn’t seem too friendly in this fic. I still think he should have done many things very differently, but I start to understand him much better now. If someone is interested, listen to these two podcasts, in the beginnings they deal with Tywin.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4d_Rymq2UV8
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahHkfpYGHM4


	15. Might II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne settles into an unsettling place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might be the only person in fandom who really likes Casterly Rock. The more I read about it the more I like it. I fear this chapter turned into a CPWP (= castle porn without plot, with an emphatic emphasis on castle). Nevertheless I hope it’s still readable. I had to split it again, the third and last part of “Might” is already written and should be up in a day or two. 
> 
> Have I told you that I really like Casterly Rock?

Casterly Rock at day was different than at night. If people talked about the Lannister castle Rock, she would imagine a grandiose, but dark and foreboding place. After she had roamed the Westerlands with Jaime, had traveled through the fertile fields and woods full of game, had admired the blue lakes and sparkling rivers, the misty dales and the craggy shorelines, she had assumed that the Rock wouldn’t fit the land it ruled. At day she discovered that it did suit its lands. It was not a beautiful castle, but striking, tall, and powerful.

While Jaime was soundly sleeping, she dressed haphazardly into a green gown that was made of slippery material, finer than any silk she had ever touched. She poured a glass of water from a carafe that was standing on an elegant, cream colored table. She had put Jaime’s chestnut animals beside it and her dagger, and smiled at them and her fond memories. The carafe was a piece of art, made from gold and silver, lions and sunburst and moons in the filigree. She remembered it vaguely as a wedding gift, she hadn't thanked the donor back then and couldn’t remember who it was. She had been outraged that someone had foreseen the winner of their fight. She held the glass upwards and admired the mint leaves swimming in the light green glass, sipped some of the liquid and took the delicate glass with her. While she refused to look into the mirror, she passed by, she wanted to see the ocean and padded softly onto the balcony. She found herself in the position of a figurehead of a gigantic warship that flew into battle and would win by her sheer might. The waves were playing deep down under her feet. They were swirling and lashing and crashing. The wind was ruffling her hair, she didn’t suffer from vertigo but felt guarded and warded by the enormous cliff that was her home. The stone was solid under her bare soles.

To meet her goodfather yesterday had been sobering. He tried to appear furious, but she was not sure whether they just ran into a trap, there was a layer of satisfaction mixed into his cold fury that made her shudder. It was even more complicated because she actually agreed with lord Tywin, in so far that it hadn’t been very mature, how they had run away together over and over again. It was confusing and she decided not to dwell on it. Their journey had been so much fun, and brought them together. Her hatred had became love, and her husband like her too, she was sure.

Although the sandstone was still cool to the touch, it had gotten a warm hue in the dawn. The Rock was much greater and more golden than Evenhall Fall, the Sunset Sea not as blue, but the air smelt similar, and the waves played a familiar tune. She breathed the salty air deep into her lungs, closed her eyes and asked the Crone to guide her through Lannister politics, the Maiden to let her stay so close to Jaime as they had become, the Mother to grant her becoming a mother herself. A flock of seagulls flew by and cried encouragingly. A small part of her was suddenly looking forward to the task of becoming a lady of the Rock, to show them all that the awkward Maid of Tarth had it in her to become a ruler and a lady. She opened her eyes and the sun glittered in the water, only the patch where the castle cast its shadow, stayed dark. She toasted to the Sunset Sea and the first morning of a lifetime to come and gulped down the remaining mint water. Brienne would do everything to be worthy of the task that lay ahead of her.

She went back into her chambers. The old rooms of Jaime’s mother were carved into the stone and boasted high windows. The bed chamber was facing west, but already alight and aery. She had loved the last weeks in the wilderness of the mountains, but after nights on the hard ground, she had enjoyed cleaning herself with good sandalwood soap yesterday night, and to sleep in a bed that didn’t look suited to sleep for mere mortals. It was her bed technically. The sheets were so soft, the canopy regal, the furs so cozy it was difficult to call the bed hers, yet. In the bed slept a golden lion, beautiful as the Warrior himself. Jaime was lazily sprawled on his stomach, the blood-red blankets were artfully crumpled around him, his disheveled hair shone like gold. It was difficult to call him hers, yet.

She glanced at her old faded tapestry on the wall, her childhood knick-knacks on the mantle still, her shadowskin as a rug before the opulent fireplace. Someone had arranged her belongings with care. Her meager belongings looked out of place in this dazzling room, nevertheless, she liked them here. When would they fit in? Would they ever? She went back to the bed and perched at its edge. Jaime was still dreaming and mumbled something, and rolled towards her. She had to wake him soon. What was he dreaming? He looked content. What do you dream about, when you have grown up in this complicated splendor? Simplicity? Innocence?

Jaime had another chamber, adjacent to hers, and only a door away. But he slept in hers and claimed he always would if she wanted him here. He said his room still smelled like his father and this balcony was nicer too. Nice... Nothing about the Rock was nice. She couldn’t imagine how it must have been growing up here.

She remembered the first night she had to share a bed with him, in her own humble bed, how difficult it was to fall asleep with another body nearby. Now it would be difficult to fall asleep alone. She admired his strong back, half-hidden under the sheets, his veinous arms, the graceful legs, the firm swell of his buttocks. If they hadn’t an appointment with his father soon, she would wake him with a deep kiss and if she felt bold with a hand on his cock. But their carefree days were over. She had to become sensible again. So she kissed him gently on his forehead, combed her fingers though the unruly locks and grazed his stubble with her fingertips. A smile bloomed over his face before he opened his hooded eyes. He yawned and stretched, and grabbed after her so suddenly, she shrieked. She was nimble on her feet, but he was agile, and after drinking some mint water, he carried her back to the bed. She didn’t protest much.

He asked: “How do you like the Rock?”

“It is tall... I will miss the color of the sea around Tarth.”

Jaime laughed: “Look into the mirror, you carry sapphires around in your eyes.”

They were not as quick as they should have been. It started passionately, but they became slow and gentle. To make lord Tywin waiting, made it so much sweeter, Jaime claimed. She had to catch her breath to agree.

**********J&B**********

It would take many moons till Brienne wouldn’t feel like a stranger anymore. The Rock turned out to be the breeziest and most luminous castle she had ever seen. It was built for summer, and she wondered how cold it would be in other seasons. The castle was enormous, but she never got lost, she always had company and someone hounded her to her next task. Alone she would have needed a map.

The Rock bustled, it hummed, even the crimson-clad guards were mostly patrolling and seldom stood watch in front of the doors that were framed in gilded brackets. Servants flitted through the yellow corridors; merchants and ship captains hustled through the honey-colored light of the galleries; a plethora of golden-haired Lannisters rushed from one argument to the next affair. No one stayed still to admire the sublime view over the ocean, the richly decorated fireplaces, the soft carpets, and magnificent tapestries, the lions’ heads and paws that adorned every pillar and door and piece of furniture. The constant sound of the surf didn’t calm but surged the Lannister riches. The Rock reminded her more of a beehive than a lion’s den. Only that this comparison would make her the queen bee and she felt more bumbling than useful.

Her days were packed with activities, though they weren’t fruitful and only preparing her for her future. She should feel overburdened with responsibilities so heavy as the Rock itself, instead, she felt strangely on top of it, curious and open. Was the Lannister arrogance finally creeping up on her?

Every morning lord Tywin introduced her and Jaime to the intricate puzzles of financial administration and ruling decisions. After they passed the scowling face of Sandor Clegane, they studied in his solar or in the library. He didn’t regal them with crass decisions like drowning whole families but spent hours upon hours on explaining harbor taxes, juridical treaties and financial proposals. He explained to them an ever-changing web of alliances and allegiances, of negations and needs, of deeds and debts. It was difficult not to get tangled up in it. This noble family stood recently in good terms with that one, that lord had a falling out with that relative, the King wanted this and would grant that.

In Tarth, it had been so simple. The Evenstar ruled, there was no other family on Tarth who could threaten him, only Robert Baratheons as his liege lord and the King stood over him. Lord Selwyn shielded the isle from rare pirates' ambushes, settled minor squabbles and prepared it for seasonal change. At her home, to rule was as intuitive as watching the tide. In the West however, one weak decision could cause the downfall of a house and its smallfolk, jealousy lurked behind every raven from Kingslanding, the roads and the coast were constantly threatened by outlaws and Ironborn. Her head throbbed trying to catch up with her goodfather’s way of thinking. It made sense in a way. She couldn’t disagree if he explained it, and that annoyed her the most. Jaime tried, but it was more out of spite than out of conviction, and that annoyed her too.

When they were in the library, she would longed to read one of the magnificent ancient books instead of the dry matters at hand. How sweet would it be to learn about noble knights who always knew what was just and what was dishonorable? Knights who became great lords and didn’t have to waver.

Brienne’s hand often cramped taking notes. She had to be especially careful and attentive to be able to quiz Jaime in the evenings. Her husband was often not listening or studying. Sometimes to provoke his father, his pouting lips betrayed him. Sometimes he was just bored and watched forlornly some gulls that seared around the library’s windows like they wanted to mock them with their freedom. Every so often Jaime flashed her a smile, and she tried not to read too much into the mischievous glitter of his eyes. It was as sweet as the honey and milk they dribbled over their porridge at breakfast. She liked to watch him when he was leafing through a book to find an illuminated illustration of a coat of arms that grabbed his attention. He had the most adorable expression. The tip of his tongue was pressed between his lips. Studying made him look even more handsome, although a bit boyish, but she liked that, too.

If he failed to repeat the most important parts the next day, it would provoke another row between father and son. Brienne, who had grown up in a peaceful household, couldn’t stand her husband’s shouting and Lord Tywin’s cool disdain and made it her job to prevent them at all costs. Even if her cramping hand didn’t help her grip on the sword hilt later in the day.

**********J&B**********

They spared every day. Some days very early in the morning, some days after they escaped lord Tywin’s solar, some days they could shun their duties in the late afternoons. The Rock had three different yards, but Brienne liked it the most when they rode to the cliff and had some moments alone. In the yards they attract more spectators every day, and the cheering was often distracting, more so when it’s directed at her. Did they truly want to see her as the winner? On the cliff, they had only the stiff wind, the craggy ground and their horses for company.   
She had learned all his favorite moves and he knew about hers. Instead of becoming boring, their bouts got more exciting every time. They became a complicated dance, only the two of them knew it steps and turns. They fought very long bouts, in shared agreement that it was more fun to drag it out than to disarm the other as quickly as possible. Till one of them, decided that now it was time. You never knew who would crack first, and the outcome was unsure.

“Now you are as good as me." Jaime was panting, he had dropped his sword and massaged his wrist.

She asked shyly: “Is that a good thing?”

He kissed her sloppily on the mouth and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Why shouldn’t it? Fighting had become a bit boring after I left the Kingsguard and the best knights died. Now I have to impress you! Are you still impressed, wench?”

She gently pulled his lower lip between hers, before kissing him fully. She patted his shoulder, then said: “You are a very good teacher.”

He beamed: “You are right, I am. You taught me to be one. I’m a lucky man that you didn’t meet me before I had to fight for your hand.”

She was puzzled: “Why?”

“If I would have trained you so well beforehand, you would have beaten me, and we wouldn’t have wed.”

“You like it to be wed to me?”

“No,” he said into her ear. His voice was deeper and raspier than it normally was, and the warm gush of air traveled from her ear, into her body, right into her heart, “I love it.”

**********J&B**********   
  


If Jaime was not meeting the maester, the castellan Damon Lannister, his uncle Kevan or some other lords, he spent a lot of his time with his brother, who had gotten the order to brush up Jaime’s memories about history lessons he had gotten as a boy before he became a squire. She suspected strongly that history was a pretense for the brothers to enjoy more contemporary pleasures. They seemed very happy to be close again. And it made her miss Galladon.

Sometimes Brienne joined them under the presence to make them study in earnest, in truth she liked the present times, too. The brothers had a peculiar way of talking with each other, they used twisted barbs and jests that tethered to the cruel. She couldn’t understand how siblings, who liked each other, could act like that. Tyrion extended his manners to her, although she was by no means prepared for it. So she was unsure what to make of him. One moment she felt wary of his sharp wit, the next he was likable, and they shared an odd sort of companionship. Their bodies had made them both into outsiders, and they both adored Jaime. It wasn’t enough to make them alike, but they understood secrets about each other, no one else ever would.

Tyrion called her “giantess” often and she didn’t like it at all.

He simply answered: “But you are. For me at least. Giants are an interest of mine, like dragons. Some years ago they found the bones of a buried giant near Ashermark. I went there to study them, it was very enlightening. And they say giants lived in the caves of the Rock many aeons ago. I couldn’t find bones there, unfortunately, the lions must have eaten them.”

She huffed: “Tyrion, they may interest you as a scholar. But I’m tall and not a giantess!”

He cocked his head: “They are tall and hairy. What about you?”

She raised not willing to deal with him, but he put a patchy hand on her tight: “I can teach you the best way how to deal with slurs. Let them see that their words can cut you, and you’ll never be free of the mockery. If they want to give you a name, take it, make it your own. Then they can’t hurt you with it anymore.”

“But you are the only one who calls me giantess! Are you giving me advice against yourself?”

“Never think that what they say into a Lannister’s face, is the same, they say if you are out of earshot.”

“I learned early in my life to only trust what themirror tells me and and never what people say.”

“Speaking of mirrors,” said Jaime, who came over to join them and whispered something into her ear, that made her blush.

**********J&B**********

One day Tyrion led them deep down into the closed mines of the Rock. They could only reach them climbing down roughly hewn flights of stairs, flimsy ladders, and rope lifts. Jaime offered to carry Tyrion down over too high steps, Brienne offered a hand, but her goodbrother jumped with surprising swiftness down the high steps.

It didn’t feel like the weight of the whole Rock piled above them, more like they had descended into one of the Seven Hells. It was hotter down there, and stickier, the torch lights enhanced the rugged walls. The sea was louder but muffled like they were swallowed by a roaring lion. Brienne was not easily scared, but she felt a strange flutter in her stomach, climbing deeper and deeper into the dark, where one wrong step could end a life. The caves swarmed with cats, who meowed and hissed and stalked them, or run away with dead rats in their mouths. The granaries were filling up quickly and the cats guarded them, Tyrion explained. Lord Tywin had made a treaty that every family of the West had to bring a cat to the Rock.

One room was filled with iron worked crates and chests. Tyrion lent the dagger and two hairpins from her and unlocked the complicated mechanism. It was filled with red jewels that glittered in the torchlight. The treasure of the Tarth mines. He seemed to expect a reaction like entitlement or pride from her. But she had never known about the secrets of her home’s quarries and felt neither attachment nor greed. While Jaime made a calico kitten run after a ruby, Tyrion pocketed some of them with a loopy grin towards her. They didn’t belong to her anymore, never had actually, so she stayed silent.

He asked her: “What do you want, lady Giantess, if not riches?“ He hushed his voice so that Jaime couldn’t hear them. “Do you want to rule? Be admired? Be loved? My brother’s heart?”

She blushed, it happened less and less, since she had arrived at the Rock, there was enough crimson around her, no need to add her skin to the sea of red. She stole a glance at Jaime who looked so handsome today, with his short beard, his green tunic, with mirth in his eyes.

“What do I want? What does it matter? I do what honor compels me, what is the right thing to do. I want to be just.”

Jaime joined them again and shoved the struggling cat into her chest: “What are you two talking about?”

Tyrion waddled to the door and said without looking back: “Being a knight, I guess?”

**********J&B**********

  
Jaime took her to Lannisport to get new armor. Genna’s retinue had finally arrived and some of his men and two squires tagged along. Many needed the blacksmith after their travels. 

“Does every city look like that?” she asked Jaime.

“More or less,” he said.

Addam chimed in: “No, my lady. That is Lannisport. The other cities stink like shitholes. Kingslanding is the worst.”

Jaime rolled his eyes, Addam laughed and made his red courser dancing, Brienne’s mare snorted.

Although the city wasn’t smelling like roses, the constant sea breeze blew bad odor away. And small water rivulets along the streets took the debris to the sea. The main streets were even cobbled. Lannisport was very tidy, the houses were built with yellow sandstone and timber, there were markets with stalls that sold goods from all over the world. In one part of the city streets upon streets were rimmed with the shops of gold and silversmiths. The sept looked polished, they passed orderly looking inns. The people seemed busy like the people in the castle that loomed above them, but they were laughing more freely. Perhaps because the lord was not breathing down their neck constantly. At the port the Lannister fleet stood watch, ships arrived, others went away to explore the sea.

They had sent her measurements to the blacksmiths beforehand and the armor was ready to be fitted. So the next time she could take it with her. She was in awe about the blueish steel. It looked marvelous, almond too beautiful for her.

Jaime looked at her with a strange expression and she asked warily: “Do you not like it?”

He growled: “I should send them all away. I could take you right here.”

She gulped and blinked: “Sometimes I fear I don't deserve this.”

He cocked his head and smiled: “You deserve so much more, my lady. You like it to be wed to me?”

She leaned closer to him and her new armor creaked “No", she said with a husky voice. He flinched and she smiled softly: “No, I don’t like it. I love it.”

**********J&B**********

Brienne longed to be more outdoors again. They made tentative plans to visit Ashermark or to attend a boar hunt in the woods of Crakehall. But you could spend a lifetime in Casterly Rock and would still discover new corners. Although she wondered sometimes, hurrying upstairs and downstairs and up again, whether they needed so many staircases. Even without riding or sparing she would never put on weight in this castle, to walk from the library to her room to the hall, where they usually ate supper, took longer than to walk twice around Evenhall Fall.

Watching some young pages sliding down the elaborate banister of a show staircase, she mused that they had built so many stairs to remind themselves how fast you could fall downwards and how hard it was to climb upwards. The pages giggled passing her and greeted her friendly albeit a bit offhandedly. The smallest one of the group, a skinny frightened-looking boy watched her warily and stayed quiet. She sent him a tentative smile. So she was not the only one who had to pull herself together to not feel intimated by the Rock.

Jaime showed her many shortcuts. He led her over the battlements, then downwards the western turret’s steep helical stair flight, then they had to cross the Stone Garden with its twisted weirwood tree, then through the Golden Gallery and slip into the servants’ path, where they carried the meals from the kitchens into the halls. 

The suppers were a somber affair, when lord Tywin attended them, he did only it as a host for important guests. If he was absent, the other Lannisters played like the mice do when the cat is out of the house. Blazing fires and a myriad of beeswax candles drenched the hall in a warm tone. The pages were flitting around and felt their cups with all sorts of expensive wines. The small page she had met at the railings this afternoon, filled hers with a solemn care she liked very much. Around them, it was noisy with songs and boisterous music and mocking jokes. Brienne was glad she had gotten used to this kind of behavior by observing the bannermen in the weeks on the road. Although she was breathing more easily if her goodfather didn’t join the family for dinner, the constant buzz felt overwhelming, too. She longed to have a singer around as they had them on Tarth. One that sung a mournful tale, that hushed the audience and made them contemplate the earnestness of their existence.

She seldom said something, only when she got coaxed into it, mostly she was observing them silently. Most Lannisters were garrulous, and she was a good listener, nevertheless, she was struggling to stay afloat and catch all the innuendos and sudden mood swings. She tried to enjoy the almost too exquisite kitchen. She had never eaten so well made sea fish. But she missed the honest and straightforward dishes of Tarth. Everything was drenched in expensive spices, too hot, too peppery, too tangy. Perhaps one day, she would ask her father to send them a cook. 

Jaime smiled at her openly and often. Sometimes he put a hand on her knee under the tablecloth. She was not sure whether it was meant to reassure or excite her, she welcomed it either way. His green eyes flickered to her lips when she put a mouth-watering morsel to them. She knew what he was thinking and blushed and forced her features into a stern expression, he would soon kiss away on their way to their rooms. As newlyweds, they had some excuse to leave early. They often left in a hurry. Jaime chased her or she chased him.

“I like it more to be wed to you!” He said.

“No, I like it more!”

“Who is faster in our chamber, wins!”

She knew more shortcuts every day, so some nights she was the winner of their silly race. And in truth, they always won it together anyway. They loved it both to be wed.

**********J&B**********

She rather enjoyed the study sessions at night with Jaime, when she paid him with kisses and cuddles for every right answer. Therefore, he was much more eager with her than with his father. Although it was difficult for her to stay unwavering against his relentless attempts to seduce her. Then they landed far too soon between the silken sheets. There she tried to make good use of his habit of talking constantly during sex by letting him repeat tax and juridical policies. He, in return, let the dry matter sound salacious. It helped his memory, so she let it slip.

Brienne began to almost enjoy the mornings with her stern goodfather. More and more she understood what he was talking about. While his lectures still sounded too paranoid for her, some of it made sense. She did want the best fortune for the West and its people. And Jaime’s smirks and the tiny notes, he shoved secretly into her direction, if his father wasn’t looking, sweetened the sour economical and political matters.

**********J&B**********

  
When they weren’t sparing in the afternoons, Brienne was mostly surrounded by women. Her time with the septas who taught her Lannister lore twice a week was completely different than it had been with Roelle. The septas sang more than they lectured. They didn’t dare to mock or berate her. Septa Edyth had been present at Brienne’s wedding and sewed her dresses that fit her, although she didn’t like their radiant jewel-toned colors and clear cuts. They told her she looked good in them, and Jaime agreed, he especially liked the blue ones. And she also got nice new jerkins and breeches and high soft suede boots. Outside dinner, she mostly wore those. The beautiful dagger Jaime had gifted her at their chaste wedding night fit her attire and stopped to draw attention, it blended into her new clothes. On the outside, she transformed a bit into a Lannister, in her heart there would always be a place for Tarth.

The sept of the Rock was lavish but felt empty. She lit candles for the Mother, while the septas clucked around her. The septon was as pompous as frail, but he blessed every candle she lit and whenever he was distracted by the septas, who wanted to discuss a certain incantation, Brienne set a candle alight for the Warrior, too. He had saved her, when she needed his strength, but made her lose her most important fight against Jaime. Now she felt grateful that he had denied her this plea.

There hadn’t been many noblewomen at Tarth, so it was intimidating to sit among the Lannister wives and widows. They hesitated to belittle her, because they all knew about the attention she got from her goodfather, but they needled her relentlessly. Sometimes it would have been easier to hear the beratings that must be so sharp as the needles they used. She could only guess what they would sound, if they were honest with her.

Brienne herself refused to sew or stitch with them. She wrote letters at home, missed Jaime, listened to the gossip about Queen Lyanna’s estrangement from her King, imagined Jaime’s acerbic comments, if he was here, her giggles, his kisses. Only a few hours without him, let her heart beat faster thinking about him and she longed to meet him in the yard or the bed. She berated herself, but she couldn’t calm down. Here in this overstraining castle, she should call home one day, her attachment to Jaime grew instead to dwindle as it should. She tried to prepare for almost inevitable disappointment and estrangement, but how should you do that? It wouldn’t always be so wonderful, she had to make the best of it and stored memories for later.

She tried her best to engage the ladies in conversation. It felt clumsy at best.

She said: “Lady Dorna, I love the flower garland you are stitching!”

Kevan’s wife was a gentle soul and nodded: “Should I show you how to do this pattern?

“Err...”

Lady Shiera, the wife of the castellan snickered: “Dorna, you know she is better with far bigger needles, look at those hands of her! They have more calluses than my Damon has. Do you truly fight against your husband? Does he like that? It is not seemly...”

“You are jealous, Shiera!” said Lady Miranda, “my brother sends me wonderful interesting tales from the Golden Tooth...”

Brienne snorted: “But we didn’t spar at the Tooth!” The ladies looked at her as if she had done a heinous crime by snorting and she touched her broken nose in a feeble attempt to hide it.

“My sister-in-law begs to differ!” Miranda whispered into Shiera’s ear, who looked at Brienne with a mix of dismay and awe and said: “Dorna, teach her to stitch little cubs and not flowers! She will need them for the baby blanket soon. The young lion married a lioness, it seems...”

“Sure!” cried lady Lorna, “but let us watch how you fight, lady Brienne. Kevan says it was extraordinarily at Tarth.”

Lady Darlessa said: “My nephew Addam tells me, they had far better fights later on. Lady Brienne stayed on top then!”

And so they went on and on till she felt like a lioness from a wandering circus on display in a cage. Nevertheless, the Lannisters' wives and widows were easier to tolerate than the other noble ladies who joined them sometimes. Their curiosity was unbearable. Brienne saw the sneers from the corner of her eyes and heard the badly hushed snickers. But not one dared to be openly adversarial. They feared Lord Tywin, and it protected her more than Jaime ever could. It made her fear her goodfather even more. He had all the power over her, too. One false word, and she could fall from his graces and suffer the dire consequences of being mocked.

**********J&B**********

After some days, Brienne didn’t need company anymore to find her way to her chamber. One later afternoon she was on her way from the eastern yard to her chambers to change for supper. Jaime had won, and then Ser Benedict, the master-at-arms made them repeat one exchange over and over again.

“Don’t show her all my tricks, Broom,” Jaime complained, “she will not take me seriously anymore.”

“You don’t wish your lady to become a good fighter, my lord?”

“Of course. I was joking.” He gave her a quick peck on her flushed cheek. “She doesn’t take me seriously anyway. And don’t call me lord, ser.”

“But, you are one, Jaime,” she said.

“My father is still ruling. Don’t get your hopes up that he will hand over the lordship, soon. It’s better this way, believe me.”

While she was walking back, she pondered how to convince him, that he had it in him, to become a great lord. He knew the whole Westerlands as well as she knew Tarth. He asked the right questions during their lessons in ruling. He knew how to speak to the nobles who were seeking him out, he sneered, if they needed it and granted them their wishes to talk with his father if he agreed to their suggestions. Women swooned for him, and men followed him easily. His loyal bannermen came from all over the West, the possibility that one of them would join an uprising was low. It suddenly occurred to her that behind all his outward arrogance, he hid a low self-esteem. And she decided to resolve it.

She was walking down a wide staircase and suddenly heard someone cry in a hidden alcove. She was curious, who was weeping and stepped into it. The smallest of the pages huddled there on the floor, his arms around his knees, the face hidden behind his thin hair.

She crouched down and laid a hand unto his shoulder: “What bothers you, boy?”

He looked up, his eyes were swimming with tears.

“You are one of the pages, are you not? I’ve seen you in the halls. Tell me your name?”

He stuttered: “Puh-puh...”

Brienne smiled at him: “I was also tongue-tied when I was younger. You know who I am?”

The wee lad nodded eagerly, and she gave him a handkerchief. He blew his nose, and she tried again: “Do you want to talk about it? Was someone mean to you?”

“N... n... no, ser.”

She cocked her eyebrows: “I’m a lady.”

“L... lady Brienne. I... I know.”

“And who are you?”

“Puh-puh-Podrick. Puh-Payne.”

“Please to meet you, page Podrick.”

“Pod is fine. They call me Pod. All of them.”

“But you prefer Podrick?”

He nodded quickly and a tentative smile flitted over his face.

“I will be the lady of this castle. I can make things turn better. But you have to tell me, what is bothering you, so I can help you.”

“They muh-mock me.”

“The other pages? Because of your speech?”

He nodded: “And I’m not good with the sword.”

“You fight with the wooden one, still? Perhaps you need blunted steel?”

His eyes widened, he beamed, it was very quickly gone: “They will not let me.”

“But I will. I can show it to you, if you want.”

“Really, ser?”

She shook her head, but had to smile: “I’m not a knight, but I fight like one, my lord husband tells me.”

“Lord Jaime?”

“Call him ser. He prefers that.”

He nodded eagerly. And so Brienne made her first friend in Casterly Rock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think in canon Jaime could be on the trajectory of becoming a lord. This quote is very interesting:
> 
> “Even if this is true … you are a lion of the Rock, a lord. You have a wife, a castle, lands to defend, people to protect. If the gods are good, you will have sons of your blood to follow you. Why would you throw all that away for … for some vow?”  
> “Why did you?” asked Lancel softly.  
> For honor, Jaime might have said. For glory. That would have been a lie, though. Honor and glory had played their parts, but most of it had been for Cersei. A laugh escaped his lips.”
> 
> (AFfC, Jaime IV)
> 
> About Jaime and studying: he is clearly not as bookish as Tyrion, but if something important to him is on stake, he will study, like in AFfC, Jaime II.
> 
> Or in this fanfic GRRM wrote about the Lannister brothers battling Cthulhu:
> 
> https://grrm.livejournal.com/140797.html
> 
> His dyslexia is a strange show invention.


End file.
